


Harry Potter and the Whispering Man

by ParryHotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humour, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParryHotter/pseuds/ParryHotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is starting his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but what looks to be a great start to the year, soon turns out to be the worst situation Harry could possibly imagine. From spending time with a certain Potion's Master to encountering a strange, mysterious man, this year could be one of Harry's most exciting yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "That's brilliant, Sir!"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic focuses kind of on the relationship between Harry and Snape - nothing sexual or anything, I just always loved the way they absolutely hated each other and the way J.K wrote their interactions ^-^ But anyway, it's my take on another one of Harry's years at Hogwarts and basically features all the usual characters that appeared throughout the books! Oh, and although it's Harry's fourth year, there is no Triwizard Tournament.

As the sun rose once again over Privet Drive, tiny beams of light found their way through the small cracks in Harry’s worn and dusty curtains. They crept across the cluttered floor, slowly snaking their way towards Harry’s closed eyelids.

Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

Harry stirred and opened his eyes. He began to blink rapidly, the harsh light too bright for his tired eyes. He felt around for his glasses, his fingers fumbling from lack of use.

His hand closed around something long and pencil like, he pushed it out of the way and heard a clattering on the floor.

“Damn,” he muttered. His hand fumbled even more and closed around a second object. This one was smooth and cold to the touch – his glasses. He put them on lazily and blinked a few more times. His small bedroom came into focus.

Hedwig’s cage, perched precariously on top of a pile of old newspapers, stood empty – she was clearly still out hunting. Next to Hedwig’s cage stood Harry’s wardrobe. Door slightly agar, it contained all of his school robes, and all of his school textbooks. Harry’s most prized possessions where also scattered about the room. His Firebolt was standing proudly by his bedside cabinet, propped up by the wall. His invisibility cloak lay folded neatly in his trunk, which was open and sat under his window. Lastly, an old, leather-bound photo album containing the only images Harry had ever had of his dead parents, sat safely on his bedside cabinet.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and his head began to swim a little. Eventually, the feeling passed, and Harry felt it was safe to get up.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and let his feet touch the cold, wooden floor. He wiggled his toes to get some feeling back into his legs. Compared to his bed at Hogwarts, the mattress the Dursley’s had supplied for him really wasn’t something to boast about.

He stretched, stifled a yawn, and stood up. The movement made his back and knees click rather impressively. He crossed over to his curtains and pulled them open. Bright, morning sunlight flooded the room, basking it in a warm, pleasant glow. Harry lifted the catch on his window and opened it as wide as it would go. Almost as if she had been waiting for her cue, Hedwig swooped gracefully in, dropped something on Harry’s bed, and then fluttered delicately into her cage. She hooted at Harry, tucked her head under her wing and settled down for a long snooze.

Harry smiled as he watched Hedwig for a moment – she truly was a beautiful bird, and she was all his. He then turned back to the window and closed it a bit, though he left it open enough to allow a cool breeze to circulate the already stuffy room.

He remembered, as he turned back to his bed, that he had knocked something off his bedside cabinet in his search to find his glasses. Sure enough, when he went to check, his Holly and Phoenix Feather wand was missing. He glanced down at the floor but it was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling slightly, he got down on all fours to get a better look. He scrambled round in the dust for a few minutes, and eventually spotted it lying innocently under his bed. He stuck out a hand and retrieved it, but in doing so, he noticed a folded bit of paper stuck between two floorboards. He put his wand back where it should be and stuck out his hand for a second time, this time retrieving the bit of paper.

He heaved himself off the wooden floor and brushed the dust off his hands and knees. He went and sat down at his desk, the broken chair wobbling slightly as he did so. Harry thought nothing of it as he began to unfold the piece of paper. It was grubby, and the untidy scrawl of the writing told Harry that it had been written in a rush, but it still made him grin from ear to ear. The note read:

_Harry,_

_I’m sorry our time together was so short. I promise you, when my name’s cleared we’ll have all the time in the world – you’ll be sick of me soon!_

_From what I’ve heard about those Muggles you live with, they won’t be too happy when they find out you’ve got a ‘murderer’ as a godfather. I’ll be sure to let them know that I’ll be keeping a close eye on the way they treat you, and should I hear that you’re unhappy, they’ll have me to deal with._

_Should you ever wish to contact me, a letter addressed to Snuffles will always find its way to me, and Hedwig will know where to go anyway._

_Me and Buckbeak keeping good enough company, but it will be nice to be a free man again._

_I will love you always._

_Sirius_

Harry, still grinning, got up and put the note safely in his photo album. He could still remember the Dursley’s faces when they’d received a letter from Sirius Black, ‘insane convict, on the run from the law, responsible for killing thirteen people.’ Harry hadn’t had the heart to tell them that Sirius was innocent, and if he was quite honest, he preferred the scared Dursleys to the scary Dursleys any day. It was thanks to Sirius that, for the first time in Harry’s school career, they had not locked all his school possessions away the minute he stepped through the front door.

Harry looked at his repaired alarm clock and saw that it was seven in the morning. He then glanced over at his homemade calendar and felt his stomach do a series of back flips. August 25th was outlined in red to make it stand out, and today just happened to be that day.

Harry bound over to Hedwig’s cage and poked her gently awake. She opened her big amber eyes and stared at him reproachfully.

“Today’s the day, Hedwig! This time tomorrow we’ll be at Hogwarts!” Harry said in an excited whisper, fearful of waking the Dursleys up. Hedwig gave a sleepy, celebratory hoot, and then returned to her nap.

Harry, now happier that he had been all summer, let the night Professor Dumbledore had appeared at the front door replay in his head.

 

Harry had been sat on his bedroom floor, opening his three birthday presents he had received in the mail. The first had been from Hermione. She had given him a fascinating book on defensive spells – Harry couldn’t wait to try them out, hopefully on Malfoy – along with a huge box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Harry had been unlucky enough to eat a jet black one that turned out to be rotten fish. Ron had got him a handy little devise to clip onto his broom that told him the time, the temperature, his exact location in the world, and his height in the sky. There had also been a note attached:

 

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday!_

_Look mate, I hope you like your present, but I wouldn’t count on it too much – it was only cheap._

_Dad said something about you not coming to school on the Hogwarts Express – what’s that about? Hopefully it was just dad being dad, eh?_

_Don’t let the Muggles get you down!_

_Ron_

Ron’s note had left Harry somewhat confused – why shouldn’t he be going on the train? He would send a reply with Hedwig when she got back from hunting and get it all sorted.

His last present was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper – a giant of a man who had a sometimes unhealthy interest in dangerous, and often deadly, animals. Hagrid’s gift was about the size of a small notebook, and when Harry ripped off the brown wrapping paper, it turned out to be just that. It wasn’t, however, and ordinary notebook. The pages inside where velvety soft, and had a fragile, antique look to them, and the cover seemed to glow a brilliant blue – the book had a very magical aura in Harrys opinion. When he read the note attached, he was informed that the cover was actually made out of crushed unicorn horn, meaning it was very magical, and also incredibly expensive. Harry made a mental note to thank Hagrid profusely when he saw him next.

Wanting to stretch his legs, Harry had decided a trip downstairs would do the trick. He got up, crossed his room and went onto the landing. He could hear the muffled sound of animated voices drifting up the stairs, meaning the Dursleys must be watching TV.

Deciding it was safe to go down, Harry began to descend the stairs, his mouth still tasted unpleasantly of rotten fish. As he reached the last step, the doorbell suddenly rang. Harry stood still as a statue as he heard Uncle Vernon’s low rumble of a voice.

“Expecting anyone Petunia, dear?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” came his Aunts simpering voice. “Is it one of your little friends Popkin?” Harry heard a sound, similar to a grunt, which he took to mean “No” from Dudley.

“Well, I’ll get rid of them,” Uncle Vernon said gruffly. The door to the sitting room opened suddenly, and Harry felt the strange sense of guilt wash over him, though he had no idea why.

“What are you doing? Lurking about on our stairs. Got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on our conversations?” Uncle Vernon shot at him. Harry could only shake his head; he didn’t really have a comeback.

The doorbell went again and Uncle Vernon shouted, “I’m here, I’m here. Ruddy salesmen, nothing better to do than bother my family…tell them where to shove it…” Harry passed his Uncle and his incessant mutterings and headed towards the kitchen. Perhaps a glass of water would get rid of the rotten fish taste that simply refused to disappear – it really was quite unpleasant…

However, an all too familiar voice was drifting down the hall, one that made Harry stop dead. He was confused; that voice didn’t belong in the Dursleys corridor, it belonged at –

“Hogwarts, yes. You heard me correctly Mr Dursley. Now, I was wondering if I might have a word with young Harry?”

Harry came out of his stupor and spun round, he couldn’t suppress his grin.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was standing, framed in the doorway, and smiling calmly.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, warmly. “Could you come out here for a moment, seeing as your uncle has failed to invite me in?”

Uncle Vernon gave a stunned start at the mention of his name, recovered from the shock of seeing a fully grown wizard – flowing robes and all – standing in his doorway, and backed slowly into the sitting room, closing the door as he did so.

As Harry walked past the newly shut door, he heard the telltale sound of a lock clicking into place. He chanced a glance at his Headmaster and was pleased to see him still smiling. The news can’t be that bad then, though Harry.

“Harry, my boy, so good to see you,” said Dumbledore as he closed the front door behind Harry. Harry, still so amazed by the fact that Dumbledore was actually here, registered only too late that Dumbledore was talking to him. He opened his mouth hurriedly but was cut off by a quiet chuckle, coming from Dumbledore’s direction.

“Surprised to see me, I take it?” Asked Dumbledore kindly.

“Ye-yes sir, I-I mean no sir, I-I mean…” Harry’s voice tailed off pathetically. He eventually settled for the safest question he could think of. “How are you sir?” As soon as the words left his lips, Harry wanted to suck them all back in. He felt a blush slowly creeping towards his cheeks and felt his ears get hot – what a stupid question, Harry thought angrily. He was glad it was dark out, because he had a horrible feeling he was the exact shade of a tomato right about now.

Dumbledore looked a little taken aback at Harry’s sudden question, but he recovered quickly enough. Still smiling, he answered.

“I’m very well, thank you Harry. And what about you? Enjoying your birthday I hope?”

Harry had quite forgotten it was his birthday, but he nodded nonetheless and replied.

“Yes, thank you sir, I’m fine. Missing Hogwarts, but enjoying the time off I suppose.” If Harry were completely honest, he would give anything to be back at Hogwarts; he truly did hate coming home for the summer.

“Good, good. Glad to hear you’re keeping well. I’m rather pleased you mentioned Hogwarts actually, as I am here to talk about your return to school.”

Harry felt his stomach drop unpleasantly.

“I am going back aren’t I?” Harry asked, slightly panicky. “Hogwarts hasn’t closed down, has it? Wait! Has Snape finally got me expelled?! But sir, that’s not fair! He can’t just-“

“Harry!” Dumbledore interrupted Harry’s frantic ramblings. “Harry my boy, don’t worry! Hogwarts has _not_ closed down and _Professor_ Snape –“ Dumbledore looked pointedly at Harry, Harry merely shuffled his feet uncomfortably, “- _Professor_ Snape has not had you expelled. Why in the world you would think he has a reason to expel you, I don’t know.”

Harry could think of about fifty reasons Snape could give for wanting to expel Harry, and he was sure Snape himself could think of over a hundred. He held his tongue however, and let his professor continue.

“No, Harry, I am here to tell you that we – we being me and several other influential people –“ Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled mischievously over his half moon spectacles, “ – have decided that since Lord Voldemort may once again be on the rise to power, it is unsafe for you to return to school with everyone else.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him.

“Therefore, you shall be returning to school a week earlier with me. I hope that is satisfactory?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in the light from the street lamp.

“Sir that’s…that’s…” Harry, stunned into silence, was lost for words.

“Ok?” Prompted Dumbledore.

“…That’s brilliant, sir,” said Harry grinning. A whole extra week at Hogwarts, that meant a whole extra week away from the Dursleys! Harry could have jumped for joy, but he settled instead for a sort of manic grin, followed by an improvised little jig.

“Excellent,” proclaimed Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. “I shall see you on the 25th – I look forward to it!” He patted Harry fatherly on the shoulder and turned to leave. Halfway down the drive, he let out a loud “Oh!” that made Harry jump.

“Harry, I almost forgot. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this, otherwise it defeats the whole object of the plan, you see?” Harry nodded, but suddenly remembered –

“Sir, I think Ron might already know. He knew I wasn’t going to be on the train anyway,” said Harry, hoping dearly that he hadn’t just got his best friend into trouble.

“Of course,” said Dumbledore calmly, looking as though something was extremely obvious. “Arthur would know. Thank you for that information Harry – I’ll go and speak to Mr Weasley now.”

And with that, Dumbledore turned abruptly and continued his way down the drive. A little stunned, Harry called a feeble “Goodbye sir!” and turned back towards the house.

He opened the front door and jumped when he saw a large, moustached face with small, piggy eyes peering through a crack in the sitting room door.

“Well, boy? Has he gone?” Asked his Uncle, in a would-be-casual sort of voice.

“Yep, he’s gone,” said Harry happily. “But he’ll be back on the 25th!”

Harry enjoyed the stunned look on his Uncles face for a few seconds more, and then headed back upstairs, happier than he’d been in a long time.

 

Harry stood and thought about the memory for some time, lost to the real world. Eventually he returned back to the land of the living, and shook his head as though to clear it – that had been a good flashback!

He glanced around the room and noticed something lying on his bed. It was the letter Hedwig has dropped off.

“Bet it’s from Dumbledore, explaining what’s happening tonight,” Harry said excitedly, though mainly to himself, as Hedwig was fast asleep.

He picked up the envelope and saw that it was addressed to a Mr. H. Potter, though it wasn’t in Dumbledore’s usual flowing hand, it was spiky and disjointed. A memory stirred at the back of Harry’s mind as he remembered seeing the font before, but he pushed it aside – he was too excited about the letter. He ripped open the envelope, pulled out the piece of parchment and read:

 

_Mr Potter,_

_It is my duty to inform you that, due to recent events, the Headmaster is no longer able to collect you tonight._

_It just so happens, however, that I am available, and will therefore be doing the job for him._

_I expect you ready and waiting by 5 o’clock this evening. I do not like to be kept waiting, so if you are not ready, it is safe to say you will, much to my pleasure, have to suffer the consequences._

_Do not be late._

_Professor S. Snape_

Harry’s stomach dropped and his good mood vanished – it was as though he had just plunged head first into an icy pool of black, swirling dread – one that took the shape of Severus Snape.


	2. "Your relatives are somewhat, indisposed..."

Professor Snape was easily the least liked teacher at Hogwarts. With the way he openly favoured his own house – Slytherin – and positively hated the others, especially Gryffindor. It was even common knowledge that he detested Harry, and did everything in his power to make Harry’s life a living hell. Of all the teachers at Hogwarts, Harry had to get stuck with the one that was most likely to kill him.

Harry threw the letter to the floor and stormed over to his bed; he grabbed his pillow and started pummelling it, savouring every punch and relishing the sweet, momentary relief it brought him. After several minutes of mindless punching, a thought came to him. He immediately grabbed a quill and a spare bit of parchment – he would write to Sirius, he would know what to do. He would write quickly back to Harry explaining how he, himself, would come and get him, and Harry wouldn’t have to worry about spending time with old ‘Snivellous’.

Pacing the room, he began to think of what to write, thoughts whirled through his head. He could hear the distant sound of the Dursleys waking up around him, but he blocked the sounds out. Soon, only the sound of his erratically beating heart throbbed in his ears.

He suddenly stopped pacing, and as he did so, his stomach lurched unpleasantly. A memory stirred as he recalled the night Dumbledore had showed up – a promise he had made. He had promised his Headmaster not to tell anyone about the plans to move him – and that promise included Sirius. What if his letter was intercepted? What if someone read about the plans to move him? He couldn’t risk sending a letter to Sirius.

He threw his quill and parchment to the floor angrily, and ran his fingers through his trademark mop of messy, black hair. Why was it always him? A week at Hogwarts with the most hated – the most hated – Harry couldn’t even think of a word that would do the foul bat justice. The most hated… _git_ Harry had possibly met – and he’d met Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy.

He glanced at his clock and saw that it was now eight in the morning. An hour ago, he’d been happy. An hour ago, he’d been looking forward to the prospect of spending a wonderful week, away from the Dursleys; at the only place he’d ever considered a real home. Now? Now he was dreading it.

He slumped down against the wall and slid to the hard floor, head between his knees. Wave after wave of fierce emotion hit him hard. Anger. Annoyance. Weakness. Vulnerability. Despair. And oddly, foolishness. Why was he being such a child? Throwing a temper tantrum all because the Big Bad Teacher was coming to take him to school. He looked up as his franticly beating heart began to calm to a steady beat once more. Hedwig was watching him, her big amber eyes full of worry and concern.

“Sorry girl, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he muttered, as he pushed himself off the floor and crossed the room to her cage. “Lost control a bit then, didn’t I?” Harry chuckled, weakly.

Hedwig gave him a look that clearly said ‘You think?’

“I guess it’s not that bad,” continued Harry, voicing his thoughts for the empty room to hear. “He’s just got to come get us, take us to Hogwarts, and then we can stay out of his way. We’ll be perfectly happy in the common room.”

He stuck his hand through the open door of Hedwig’s cage and scratched her behind the ear. She hooted contently and nipped his finger affectionately as he withdrew his hand.

He looked around; his possessions covered every surface of his rather small bedroom.

“Better get packing,” he said as he began picking things up and shoving them into his trunk, praying that by some miracle, it would all fit.

Two hours and a miracle later, Harry was heaving his trunk – full to bursting - down the stairs, which was proving to be a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. It was now wedged in the corner where there was a turn in the stairs, a stupid design fault in Harry’s opinion. He gave it one enormous push, throwing his whole weight against the stubborn side of the unmoving case, and he felt it lurch away from him. Harry made a mad grab for it, but too late. It hit the floor with an almighty crash that made Harry grimace.

The kitchen door burst open and out charged his Uncle, an ugly shade of purple, Harry noticed.

‘What on _earth_ do you think you are _doing_ , boy?” Spat his Uncle. “We’re trying to eat our breakfast, like any **normal** family, and you’re out here tearing the place down. _What_ is the meaning of it?” His Uncle finished, a little hysterically.

Harry, now wiping small specks of spittle off his glasses, replied.

“I was just bringing my case down for when Professor Snape arrives.” Harry was amazed. Had he just called Snape ‘Professor’ without even meaning to? His standards must be slipping…

“Snape? Who’s this Snape? I thought that odd chap with the beard was taking you? Bumble-whatsit-“

“Dumbledore. His name’s Dumbledore,” said Harry, a little defensively. “And yes, he was coming to get me, but he can’t anymore, so Snape is.”

His Uncle processed the information, his piggy face scrunched up unpleasantly as his brain tried to function. Eventually, he retorted.

“What time’s he getting here? We’re going out for a meal at 6, so don’t you expect us to wait around for –“

“He’s coming at five, so you’ll be fine,” said Harry shortly. Patience wearing thin with his moody Uncle, Harry righted his trunk, pushed it to the side, and headed back upstairs. He heard his Uncle muttering something about “Freaks…” and “Wasting my time…” before he shut his bedroom door with a quite snap.

He let his eyes wander over his now empty bedroom, the only things left for him to take where his Firebolt and Hedwig’s cage (plus Hedwig).

He looked at his clock – half past 10. As he registered the time, Harry’s stomach gave a rather large, and accurate, impression of thunder. He clapped a hand to it and realised that he was, in fact, quite hungry.

Not wanting to venture downstairs and face his Aunt Petunias dreadful excuse for a breakfast – something that would consist of dried fruit and seeds, if Harry were lucky. He instead headed to the trusted loose floorboard under his bed and pulled out the last of his Birthday cake that had been a present from Mrs Weasley.

Considering he had received the cake almost a month ago, it was still lusciously moist and tasted superb – sometimes, he really did love magic.

Stuffing the last few morsels into his mouth, he felt the empty feeling in his stomach start to disappear. Satisfied, Harry wondered what to do next; it would be hours till Snape arrived. Deciding he’d rather be anywhere but at the Dursleys, he settled for a trip to the park. It was a good place to sit and think about things, and while he was at it, he could soak up some warm rays from the sun. It was also a place where no one would bother him – they were all too happy having a good time.

Mind made up, he stood, but as he did so, his vision began to blur. Had he stood up too fast? He staggered blindly towards his bed, but his legs gave way before he could find safety, sending him tumbling painfully to the floor. The world seemed to tilt dangerously, everything was turning backwards – Harry couldn’t explain it. He sat helplessly on the floor, as the volume of the world slowly seemed to disappear. Soon, all Harry could hear was his own breathing, echoing in his empty head, and even that was slowly fading. A silence surrounded him, but not, he was pleased to notice, the silence that only a Dementor could bring. This was not an eerie, chilled silence, but more a calm, peaceful one.

Even though every fibre of being in Harry’s body was telling him he should be terrified, Harry couldn’t stop his body as it seemed to relax into his surroundings.

Harry’s eyelids began to close, and Harry accepted it. If this was dying, it wasn’t that bad, really.

A quiet noise seemed to be filling Harry’s head. Almost… a whispering? He opened his eyes as much as he could, trying to find the source of the noise, but found his vision becoming black at the edges. Before he knew it, he was falling into a deep, black abyss.

 

Harry stirred; the movement making his head throb painfully.

“Potter.”

A voice sounded from far away. It sounded familiar but Harry could quite place it.

“Potter, I know you are awake, so would you kindly open your eyes?”

The voice was growing louder in his head, he wanted it to shut up – he was in a lot of pain here, wherever ‘here’ was…

“Potter, open your eyes now, or I will be forced to do it for you.”

That voce was really quiet annoying. Why couldn’t Harry just stay where he was? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He heard something that sounded like footsteps near his left ear. They were fading away into the distance.

Good, thought Harry, some peace at last. At least, that’s what he _thought_ …

Harry’s eyes flew open as a large amount of ice cold water hit him directly in the face; drenching him quite effectively and making him gasp and splutter.

He searched the room frantically for the offender, but found that his glasses had been removed, making everything annoyingly blurry.

As he heaved himself up onto his elbows, his head span rather dangerously. A large, black blob loomed over him that slowly began to come into a slightly fuzzy focus – Harry wished it wouldn’t.

Long curtains of greasy, black hair fell in front of a pale, sallow face. Dark, obsidian eyes flashed dangerously as Harry made contact with them, Harry wanted to shrink away from the glare. A thin mouth curled into an amused sneer.

Severus Snape, Potions Master, was glaring down at Harry, who sat weak and, quite frankly, terrified, staring back up at his Professor.

Harry’s eyes travelled towards one of Snape’s long, thin fingers. They were clenched around an object. It caught the light and Harry realised they were –

“Hey! They’re my glasses! Give them back!” Harry’s voice was scratchy against his throat, and it didn’t have the superior effect Harry was really looking for, so he decided to glare daggers instead. He just hoped he was glaring in the right direction, as he was still partially blind.

“Oh really?” Snape’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I merely picked these up, thinking they were mine, but, on closer inspection,” Snape made a big show of looking at the glasses closely. “Yes, they do appear to be yours Potter, how silly of me.” Snape smirked again before thrusting his hand out towards Harry. Harry snatched his glasses out of his greasy grip and rammed them onto his face. His room finally came into sharp focus.

“Wha- What happened?” Asked Harry as he levered himself off the floor with the help of his bed. He ended up in a half standing, half sitting position, not much more dignified than lying on the floor really.

“You refused to open your eyes, so I felt it was necessary – for medicinal purposes – to throw a glass of water at your face. It seemed to do the trick.” Snape smiled unpleasantly. “I would have thought even someone of your brain power could have worked that out, Potter. Surely it was obvious from the sudden –“ Snape paused, relishing tormenting Harry, “-moisture, of the situation.”

Harry felt his face burn. Stupid dungeon bat, making him feel like an idiot when he already felt sorry for himself. He would give anything to wipe that stupid smirk off that stupid, ugly face –

“I know that, _Sir_ ,” retorted Harry. “What I meant was, how did I end up on the floor? The last thing I remember doing is eating some leftover cake, and then standing up.” Harry racked his brains for any more information, but a thick fog blocked everything out.

Harry decided it was time to stand like a normal person, so he pushed himself up off the bed and into a half dignified standing position. He still didn’t match the height of the Potions Professor, but then, who did? His legs trembled and his head throbbed, but he ignored them both.

“It would appear, Potter, that you fainted, though as to why, I have no idea. You remember nothing?” Snape was watching Harry closely. Harry tried not to let it show on his face that half the room seemed to be slowly tipping.

“No Sir, nothing.” Again with the ‘Sir’, thought Harry, what was wrong with him today?

“And how do you feel now? Tired? Nauseous? Hungry? –“

“Dizzy,” interrupted Harry.

“That is to be expected. And what time did you last eat?” Snape seemed to be enjoying asking Harry questions, when Harry was clearly not enjoying answering them.

“’Bout half ten,” choked out Harry. The thought of food was making him feel even worse.

“Very well. Sit down before you pass out again.”

Harry sat down obediently and put his head between his knees. He could hear Snape’s robes rustling, but didn’t care enough to look up.

He felt something tap his shoulder. He raised his head and saw Snape holding out a vial of a brightly coloured liquid.

“Drink. It will help.” Ordered Snape.

Harry reached out for the vial. He un-stoppered it and took a tentative sniff, his nose tickled uncomfortably, but the smell wasn’t too bad.

“I said drink, not smell.”

“What is it?” Asked Harry. The way his luck was going, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to poison him – it was about the only thing that hadn’t happened tonight, thought Harry, glumly.

“It is a stomach drought and a headache drought combined. Now drink it, before I make you.”

Harry, remembering the hands-on approach Snape had taken when it came to waking him up, stuck the vial in his mouth and tipped his head back.

The cool liquid ran down his throat and settled in his stomach. Instantly, Harry felt the dizziness and nausea slip away.

He handed the empty vial back to Snape, who pocketed it and turned.

“Stay there, I shall be back shortly.” With a lot of cloak billowing and dramatic music (the music was in Harry’s head, of course) Snape left the room.

Harry, and Gryffindor and never one to follow the rules, got up immediately and went to follow Snape. Doubling back to get his wand – better to be safe than sorry – Harry caught sight of the time. A strange little flutter felt in his stomach. It was half past seven. Snape had been there for over two hours, waiting for Harry to wake up. He hadn’t seemed angry when Harry had woken. A little annoyed maybe, but no more than usual.

Wand in hand, Harry crept down the stairs. He could hear Snape’s voice coming form the kitchen. Harry tiptoed to the door and gently pressed his ear to the wood.

The door flew open and Harry found him self face-to-face, or more accurately, face-to-chest, with the Potions Master once more.

“Feeling better then?” Came Snape’s cold drawl.

Deciding he had been caught in the act, Harry felt he might as well be blunt.

“Who were you talking to? Just then, in the kitchen – there’s no one there,” asked Harry, peering round Snape’s torso into the definitely empty kitchen.

“Whom I talk to and how I choose to do it is none of your business, Potter. Now, seeing as your finally feeling well enough to stand and are no longer sprawled across the floor, can we make our way to Hogwarts?” It wasn’t really a question, but Harry could hardly say ‘No’, could he? He did, however, have a few questions of his own.

“Where are the Dursleys? And where’s all my stuff? And Hedwig –“

“Your bird, broomstick, and luggage are already up at the school – I sent them while I was waiting for you to wake,” said Snape, rather impatiently. “And your relatives are somewhat,” Snape paused, the corners of his mouth turning upward slightly, as though smiling at some sort of inside joke, “are somewhat, indisposed.”

Harry let this register, then asked –

“They’re not dead, are they?” Harry was amazed. A smile had flitted across Snape’s face for a mere millisecond – a true, genuine smile.

“No, Potter, they are not dead,” smirked Snape. “They will be back tomorrow morning with no memory of tonight.”

“But where are –”

“No more questions.” Snape cut across Harry. “Do you feel you have delayed me enough yet, Potter?” Or do you have any other plans to attend to tonight?”

Harry felt his face grow warm, as he muttered a quite “No, Sir”

“Well, if you’re sure –”

“There is one thing. Sir –”

“Lord help me. What _now_ Potter?” Asked Snape, eyes raised to the heavens.

“Thank you for staying with me, and not just leaving again when you saw I’d passed out. That’s what the Dursleys would have done…” Harry’s voice trailed off, his face growing warm for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Stunned, Snape looked at Harry for a moment or two. He then grabbed Harry’s shoulder in a vice like grip that made Harry jump.

“I’m glad I am nothing like those relatives of yours then.”

Harry felt his breath leave his lungs, and was engulfed by darkness. It was as though he was being squished down a very long, very thin tube – and he didn’t like it at all.


	3. "Go away, Peeves, I'm busy..."

Harry’s feet slammed hard into the cold ground. His knees gave way and he fell forward, landing roughly on the dried earth. He lay there for a moment, humiliated beyond belief. He could feel a bruise forming on his left knee and his head was spinning horribly.

“You really do go out of your way sprawl all over the floor, don’t you?” Snape’s voice sounded from above.

Harry pushed himself up, not meeting Snape’s eyes as he did so.

The sky was getting dark now; the dying embers of the sun that had been clinging to the heavens were slowly fading away, casting long shadows over the dark ground.

As Harry dusted himself off, Snape’s voice broke the evening silence. He was muttering incantations under his breath, wand pointed at the large iron gates that lead the way to Hogwarts Castle. Harry could make out a few of the words, they all appeared to be old Latin, but he had no hope of translating them.

Harry, head still spinning and now feeling quite queasy, made his way over to his professor. The green tinge must have shown on his face, even though he tried his best to hide it. Snape stopped muttering and turned to Harry.

“Is that the first time you have apparated, Potter?”

“The first time I’ve what?” Harry had never heard of … what had Snape said?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” muttered Snape. “Apparation, though an effective way to travel, can leave one feeling, slightly unwell the first few times it is attempted.”

“I definitely feel unwell,” murmured Harry, as he tried to focus his mind on other things; things that didn’t make him feel as though he’d just hurtled out of control down a very long, very narrow tube, all the while spinning madly.

 “The feeling will pass,” said Snape without emotion. He turned back to the gates and gave his wand a sharp flick downwards. The huge metal gates swung forward, creaking slightly as they did so, and Harry felt his heart swell. He was finally home.

Without warning, Snape began a brisk walk towards the castle, Harry jogged to keep up.

They continued their walk in silence. Harry was glad, for he felt if he opened his mouth he would struggle to keep the contents of his stomach down, not something he wanted to happen in front of Snape.

Stars were beginning to appear in the now purple sky. The moon had risen over the distant mountains, and Harry noted it’s full, circular shape. With a pang, he thought fondly of his ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin.

He had been the best teacher they’d ever had, but sadly, it was also common knowledge – no thanks to Snape – that he was a werewolf. The thought of the gruesome transformation his Professor would be experiencing right now made Harry feel even worse. A slight shudder shook his small frame. Snape glanced at him, then the moon, and a cruel smile played upon his lips. Harry really did hate him sometimes.

They reached the oak front doors in a surprisingly short time after that. Harry couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on his face as he took in the view.

Hogwarts looked as magnificent as ever. Even though the castle must have been empty, Harry noticed that all the lights were still on, at least that meant the castle wouldn’t be creepy.

As the front doors seemed to open automatically, Snape continued inside, not pausing in his brisk pace. Harry followed him in and the doors closed behind him.

The entrance hall was exactly the same, only devoid of the excited chatter from hyper teenagers. Somehow, it didn’t feel complete without the noise of hundreds of voices coming from the great hall.

Snape stopped walking too suddenly for Harry’s tired mind to cope with. Using his skills as a seeker, Harry had to actually swerve out of the way in order to miss an embarrassing collision. Felling foolish, Harry eventually halted too, ignoring the strange look Snape was giving him.

“I trust you remember where your dormitory is?” Snape asked, still watching Harry.

“Yes,” answered Harry shortly. How could he not remember where the Gryffindor common room was? It was practically his home after all.

“Yes?” repeated Snape, his black eyes flashing dangerously.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” answered Harry, unwillingly.

“I expect you to stay in your dormitory. Even if school has not yet resumed, I think it best if the usual curfew is put in place. If I catch you out of bed after hours, I think a detention will be in order. There will be no more night time wanderings from you Mr. Potter.” Snape looked triumphantly down his nose at Harry, then turned and headed towards the dungeons, his black cloak sweeping out behind him.

Harry resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Snape’s retreating back, and instead stood glaring for a few minutes.

Feeling much better after his few minutes of silent hatred, Harry turned and headed up the marble staircase. His footsteps echoed creepily as he walked through the deserted school. For the first time in his life, he would have preferred it if Snape had stayed with him. Each shadow looked threatening and foreboding, and Harry was becoming more and more jumpy with every turn. He longed to be up in the common room, sat safely by the warm fire, not wandering round the cold stone castle.

After what felt like hours of walking, Harry’s knee was beginning to become rather painful to walk on. Limping slightly, he turned what must have been the eighteenth corner and let out a sight of relief. The Fat Lady’s portrait was standing up ahead, grand as ever against the cold grey walls. It was practically radiating safety in Harry’s mind. He limped as fast as he could, but as he got closer, he realised something was missing – the Fat Lady herself.

Harry let out a groan as he came to a halt in front of the empty frame. He’d never given a second thought to what the portraits did in the school holidays, but apparently, they didn’t stay in their frames. He glanced around, hoping she was in a nearby frame, but they all appeared to be empty.

“Hello?” Called Harry timidly, feeling very foolish at the same time. Out of nowhere, there came a very loud noise that made Harry jump about a foot in the air. It sounded like a car backfiring, only it echoed off the stone walls and made Harry’s head throb. Now he was even more eager to get into his common room. What would happen if he tried to break in? He was a Gryffindor after all, and this was the Gryffindor common room. It had to let him in.

Throwing caution into the winds, Harry jammed his fingers into the side of the golden frame. He gave one, huge tug, but realised his mistake the moment he’d done it.

He felt a huge force build up around him, and in seconds, he’d been thrown backwards several feet. He hit the hard, stone floor and felt his elbow crack against the slate.

Pins and needles shot up his arm. He wiggled his fingers in an attempt to get rid of the unpleasant sensation. As he did so, a deafening cackle sounded high above Harry. He looked up and felt a scowl cross his face. Now was _not_ the time.

Peeves, the school poltergeist, a mischievous little man with a pointed face and wide smile, was swooping low over Harry. He, unlike all the other school ghosts, was not transparent, but very – almost painfully – colourful. Today he was wearing his usual pinstriped jacket, with bright green trousers and a neon orange bowler hat. He grinned wickedly as Harry pushed himself off the floor.

“What’s Potty-wee-Potter doing in school? Student beasties isn’t supposed to be back yet!” yelled Peeves, his voice grating on Harry’s eardrums.

Harry, now upright again, glared at Peeves.

“Go away Peeves, I’m busy.” Harry kept an eye on Peeves as he swooped low again.

“Potty’s not being friendly to Peevsie. Bad Potty. Saw you trying to break into the wee Gryffindor’s common room, I did. Shouldn’t be doing that!”

As Harry had suspected, Peeves chucked a very large, very hard, piece of dusty chalk at Harry head. Harry ducked just in time and watched the chalk tumble down the stairs and out of sight.

“Hey, leave off, will you?” yelled Harry angrily. “I’m a Gryffindor and I need to get in the common room – what’s wrong with that?” The last thing Harry wanted to be doing was having an argument with Peeves, but he just couldn’t resist having a go at the nasty little man.

“Bad Potty. Get out. No students allowed. _Bad_ Potty!” Peeves chucked another large piece of chalk at Harry, and this time, Harry wasn’t so lucky. It hit him square on the forehead and caused him to stagger backwards a few steps.

Loosing his temper completely, Harry bent down, picked up the chalk, and threw it as hard as he could in Peeves’ direction.

Peeves zoomed out of the way, only just in time, and glared at Harry.

Harry, for a fleeting moment, thought about running; he had never seen Peeves look so annoyed. He stood there as he watched Peeves swoop low with his arms outstretched. Realising only just in time what was about to happen, Harry reached hastily for his wand, but his hand groped through empty air – his wand was gone. Standing dumbstruck, Harry was too late.

Peeves slammed hard into Harry’s chest, knocking him flat to the floor and winding him completely.

“Peeves! Get off!” choked Harry, fighting with the struggling man. Their voices echoed loudly around them, but there was no one there to hear them.

“Bad Potty! Bad Potty!” chanted Peeves, laughing as he pelted more bits of chalk at Harry.

Harry thrashed around on the floor as he tried to throw Peeves off, but Peeves only dug his knees harder into Harry’s ribs.

“Peeves! What are you doing?” came a completely new voice.

Harry twisted his head around so quickly he cricked his neck. Eyes watering, Harry saw a pearly white figure float slowly into his view line.

“Potty was bad. Potty was a bad boy!” cackled Peeves, digging his knees in even harder. “Peevsie was just teaching Potty a lesson!” Peeves stuck his tongue out at Harry as Harry continued his fruitless struggle.

The ghost that had saved Harry came into a clearer view as Harry’s eyes cleared, and Harry was pleased to see it was Nearly Headless Nick – ghost of Gryffindor tower – one of the more friendlier ghosts.

“Peeves, I’ll have you know I just passed the Bloody Baron – he’s just around that corner actually – would you like me to go get him?” Nick raised a pearly eyebrow as he watched Peeves’ smirk disappear.

“Not doing nothing wrong, I’m not!” moaned Peeves, sounding like a five year old having a tantrum. ‘Not fair! Not fair!”

“Peeves,” Nick’s voice overpowered Peeves’ whine. “Go,” ordered Nick.

“Shant,” replied Peeves, though he kept glancing around nervously.

“Peeves!” Nick raised his voice even more. “Go. _Now_.”

Peeves released Harry, whizzed over to Nick and stuck his tongue out. He then blew a huge raspberry that sent him shooting through the wall and out of sight.

Harry, now massaging his tender ribs, turned to Nick.

“Thanks Nick,” gasped Harry gratefully.

“Not at all, Harry! But, why are you here? It’s a pleasure, as always, to see you, but isn’t there still a week until term begins?” questioned Nick.

“Yeah, you’re right, term does start next week, but I came here a week early because Dumbledore –“

“Ah, say no more. I won’t ask you to divulge Dumbledore’s plans! Who knows what goes on in that brilliant mind, eh?” Nick chuckled at his own joke.

Harry could only manage a weak laugh – the loss of his wand had put him quite on edge.

“Look, Nick, thanks for getting rid of Peeves for me, but have you seen my wand anywhere? I must have dropped it when I fell…” Harry tailed off helplessly, ringing his hands as he searched the empty floor.

“Ah yes, your wand -”

Harry felt his hopes rise.

“- sorry Harry, but I can’t say I’ve seen it. You’re sure you had it?”

Harry felt his hopes fall again.

“Yes, I definitely had it when we arrived. Don’t worry Nick, I’ll go look for it now.” Harry moved around Nick and headed towards the stairs.

“Is that wise, Harry? I mean, shouldn’t you be in your dormitory?”

Harry stood and thought for a moment.

“You weren’t serious about the Bloody Baron were you? Is he really round that corner?” Even if he was just a ghost, the Bloody Baron was not someone Harry fancied meeting alone in a dark corridor.

“No, Harry, I wasn’t serious about him,” smiled Nick. “But what about any certain _Professors_ that might catch you out of bed?” asked Nick, knowingly.

“Oh, I see what you mean.” Harry turned to look at Nick. “Don’t worry – I won’t meet anyone; Snape’s down in his office and –”

“Oh, is he now?” came a cold voice from behind Harry.

Harry jumped a mile in the air and spun round on the spot. His stomach hit the floor as he watched Snape climb the stairs, a look of utmost loathing on his pale face. Harry recoiled a little as Snape walked towards him.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, why you are making plans to wander the castle when I specifically told you to _get to your dormitory._ ” Snape put extra emphasis on the last four words, while Harry stood there helplessly as his mouth opened and closed uselessly.

“Excuse me Professor,” intervened Nick. “I happened upon young Harry here while he was being unfairly attacked by that blasted Peeves. I arrived just in time to put a stop to it.”

“That still does not explain why he was reluctant to do as I ordered –”

“My wand,” interrupted Harry. “My wand's gone, I was going to look for it –”

“Do _not_ interrupt me, Potter,” snarled Snape dangerously. “What you do with your wand and how you choose look after it is no worry of mine – believe me. Now, get to your dormitory.” Snape glared at Harry, but Harry wasn’t backing down that easily.

“But Sir! My wand –”

“In!” ordered Snape, as he grabbed Harry’s bruised elbow and marched him to the portrait hole.

Harry winced and struggled but it was hopeless, Snape only tightened his grip.

“But, the Fat Lady’s not even there!” Harry tried not to sound winy, but he had a feeling he had failed, especially if the smirk on Snape’s face was anything to go by. “How am I meant to get in?”

Snape merely ignored Harry and raised his wand to point at the empty portrait.

It flew open with a bang and the familiar circular passageway into the Gryffindor common room appeared.

Snape pushed Harry in and closed the portrait hole quickly; Harry got one last glance of Snape before the portrait slammed in his face.

Outraged, he turned and pushed against the murky brown canvas of the back of the portrait, but it wouldn’t budge. He pressed his ear to the material but heard nothing.

Annoyed, and completely lost without his wand, Harry scrambled out of the portrait hole and landed in the deserted common room. He felt most of his anger begin to ebb away as he took in the familiar surroundings of the place he so desperately wished was his home.

The fire was blazing, causing the room to adopt a warm, cosy glow. The stuffed armchairs were sitting, inviting as ever, in Harry’s favourite spot, opposite the fire. The picture frames, Harry noted with interest, were all empty. _So where do they all go?_ Harry thought to himself.

The large window that held the view to the lake stood slightly open, so the sound of the evening bird song could be heard over the quiet crackling of the flames.

Harry was just taking in the breathtakingly beautiful view of the moon reflected on the lake's smooth surface when something rather small, gangly, and very bright bowled him over.

Harry lay stunned on the soft floor – again, he noted with annoyance – as the very bright something squeezed him tightly round the waist.

Harry raised his head and found himself gazing into a pair of large, tennis ball shaped eyes.

“Dobby?!” gasped Harry, amazed and slightly winded.

“Yes, Harry Potter, it is Dobby!” squealed Dobby, his eyes overly bright as he gazed lovingly at Harry. “Dobby is honoured that Harry Potter remembers Dobby’s name. Harry Potter truly is a great, _great_ wizard!”

“Of course I remember you name Dobby! How could I forget it?” asked Harry, remembering the several near death experiences he had endured in his second year – every one thanks to Dobby.

“Harry Potter is too kind, sir, too kind!” sobbed Dobby.

Harry struggled awkwardly to his feet while Dobby continued to cling to his waist. He stared down at Dobby.

“You don’t have to call me “Sir” Dobby,” Harry said, feeling his cheeks colour slightly. “Harry’s fine. Just Harry.”

“Yes, Sir, Dobby will try to remember!” gushed Dobby, as he disentangled his long limbs from around Harry’s waist.

Harry could finally take in what Dobby was wearing, and a grin spread across his face.

Dobby has obviously been very keen to get rid of the rotten pillow case he’d been forced to wear, for now he wore a pair of bright red shorts that were several sizes too big, and were held up by a long piece of green rope. His chest was bare, but he also wore a slightly tattered woollen cardigan that was a pleasant canary yellow and clashed magnificently with his shorts. He was also wearing odd coloured socks, one blue with orange stripes, and the other was a bright neon pink,

“Nice clothes Dobby,” said Harry, grinning.

“Oh thank you, sir, thank you!” cried Dobby. “Dobby has been collecting them for a year now! Dobby has many more at home, sir, but Dobby prefers his shorts!” Dobby finished happily.

“Good for you,” said Harry fondly. “So, why are you even here?” Harry was stunned to see Dobby, but Dobby had obviously been expecting Harry.

“Headmaster Dumbledore was speaking to Professor Snape, sir, and Dobby heard Harry Potter’s name mentioned!” said Dobby excitedly. “Dobby heard that Harry Potter would be coming to school early, so Dobby offered to stay with him! Headmaster Dumbledore is a great man – he even offered Dobby a job at school, sir, in the kitchens! Dobby starts on September the first! Headmaster Dumbledore allowed Dobby to stay to look after you! Dobby is so very honoured, sir!” finished Dobby, jumping up and down on the spot, his bat like ears flopping everywhere.

“So you’re staying with me for the week?” asked Harry, wondering if it was such a good thing, spending the whole week with the incredibly peppy elf.

“Yes, sir – a whole week!” squeaked Dobby. “Does you need anything?” asked Dobby, eagerly.

“Yeah,” muttered Harry, more to himself than to Dobby. “I could do with my wand…”

“Your wand, sir? But, Dobby has it right here,” replied Dobby. He pulled the long wooden object out of a pocket in his shorts and handed it to Harry.

“My-my wand!” exclaimed Harry as he accepted it off Dobby. “How on earth did you find it, Dobby?”

“Professor Snape gave it to Dobby, sir. Dobby passed him in the corridor and he asked Dobby to return it.”

“Snape gave it to you?!” burst out Harry. “Why did Snape have my wand?” queried Harry, stuffing his wand up his sleeve – he wasn’t going to risk putting it in his back pocket again.

“Professor Snape said he found it when he was out in the grounds.”

“Why was Snape out in the grounds? Did he say what he was doing?”

“Dobby doesn’t know, sir. Dobby is a little scared of Professor Snape,” whispered Dobby, his eyes wide. “Dobby took Harry Potter's wand and came straight here.”

“You came straight here? But how did you get in?” asked Harry, slightly puzzled.

“Dobby apparated, sir. We House Elves can apparate inside of Hogwarts, even though wizards can’t,” said Dobby wisely.

Harry racked his brains. “So, was it you that made that loud noise? When I was trying to get into the tower?” Harry remembered the fright he had had from the sudden noise, had that been Dobby?

“Yes, it might have been. Dobby did not mean to startle you, sir. If Dobby had known, Dobby would have –”

“Don’t worry about it Dobby,” Harry said warmly.

Dobby smiled up at harry, the worry leaving his big eyes.

“So does you need anything else? A sandwich from the kitchens? Or some pie? Dobby can make sir any pie he wants. Dobby can –”

“A sandwich would be great, Dobby,” answered Harry kindly.

“And what would sir like on his sandwich?”

“I think ham and cheese would be great, thanks Dobby.”

“Yes sir, right away!” and with a click of his long fingers – and the sound of a car backfiring – Dobby was gone.

Harry let out a long sigh and decided to head to his dormitory. As he climbed the spiral staircase, the familiar door came into view with a plaque that now read ‘Fourth Years’ attached.

As he entered the circular room, Harry found his trunk and the rest of his belongings by his freshly made bed. Hedwig’s empty cage stood next to the open window. Harry smiled to himself.

“Looks like someone else is glad to be home, too,” he muttered under his breath.

He moved all of his things under his bed and sat down on the feather soft mattress; it was simply too inviting.

Harry’s body instantly relaxed into the folds of his soft duvet cover, and his eyes grew heavy. His head fell onto the fluffy pillow and Harry couldn’t stop himself drifting into a luxurious sleep.

Only ten minutes later, he was being poked gently in the side.

He opened his eyes suddenly and let out a sleepy “Wazzamatter?”

Dobby was gazing at Harry, concern etched all over his small face.

“Is you alright Harry Potter? Does you feel unwell?”

Harry yawned widely as he sat up.

“No Dobby, I’m fine. I just fell asleep is all,” answered Harry as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Oh good, Dobby was worried!” piped Dobby, his little body relaxing as he lifted up a plate. The largest sandwich Harry had ever seen was balanced on it – it looked delicious.

“Does Harry Potter still want his sandwich?” asked Dobby.

“Yes, he does,” replied Harry, hungrily.

Dobby smiled as he handed the food over.

“Dobby will be back soon, Harry Potter!” Once again he vanished into thin air, and left Harry to eat his sandwich.

It took Harry only fifteen minutes to eat his sandwich. By the end of it he was full to bursting – he savoured the feeling.

He got up and put the plate on his dresser. He pulled on his pyjamas that had been laid out on the bottom of his bed – no doubt by Dobby – and snuggled up into bed. He removed his glasses and the world went fuzzy once more.

He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

Harry had a restless sleep. His dreams were full of a strange blue mist that seemed to cover his eyes. There was also a man – Harry could tell it was man because of his build – but Harry couldn’t get close enough to see him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get within ten meters of the man. Dobby also appeared in his dreams. He kept pointing at Harry and then hitting himself hard over the head. The action made Harry wince, but there was nothing he could do to stop the little elf.

He woke suddenly as his scar gave a particularly painful twinge. He was drenched in ice cold sweat and the bedcovers had tangled around his legs. He spent a few minutes freeing himself and taking several deep breaths.

He rolled over onto his side and tried to get back to sleep. It took him a lot longer this time, but soon he was flying high in the night sky, towards the distant moon over the horizon.


	4. "I think it wise to reveal yourself. Now."

Harry awoke the next morning with no memory of his troubled sleep the night before. He felt very well rested – something that never happened at the Dursley’s.

He stretched, got out of bed, and went over to the open window. The sun had risen in the sky and was basking the rolling grounds in a pleasant morning glow. He crossed over to the bathroom, washed, dressed, and then headed downstairs. He felt fresh and alert. As he looked around, Dobby was nowhere to be seen. Was breakfast in the Great Hall as usual?

Hoping dearly he’d be able to get through the portrait hole on his own, Harry made his way over to the exit.

As he drew nearer, the painting opened, and Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding – he was free! He quickened his pace and soon found himself back out in the corridor.

The portrait closed silently behind him and Harry made his way down the corridor.

Deciding he’d check the Great Hall first, he headed down that way. The sun shone brilliantly through the glass in the windows – it was incredible to think that Harry had been scared walking through these halls mere hours ago. Eventually he came to a halt outside the Great Hall; the doors were closed. He pushed them open cautiously, not entirely sure if he was meant to be in there or not. The sight that greeted him was a strange one.

All the house tables had disappeared, and in their place was a single table, big enough for two people. It was full of deliciously smelling foods, but it looked very pathetic in the big hall.

Feeling slightly stupid, and a little lonely, Harry sat and ate his breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast in silence. As he munched away, he noticed that the sky was a clear, cloudless blue – thanks to the enchanted ceiling – and that meant perfect flying conditions.

When he had eaten his fill, Harry walked the length of the Great Hall and exited into the entrance hall.

Seeing as Harry had completed all of his schoolwork, he decided he would treat himself with a visit to the Quidditch Pitch.

He dashed upstairs to get his broom, but was delayed at the portrait hole by a very annoyed looking Fat Lady.

“So, _you’re_ the reason I’ve been dragged back here a week early are you?” She eyed him closely as Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“There’s no point apologizing now Mr Potter, I’m here aren’t I?”

Harry just stood and stared at her.

“Yes, I suppose. Urm, can I come in? Please?” Harry hoped dearly that she wouldn’t ask for a password.

Her expression softened a bit and a small smile crossed her lips.

“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely.”

The portrait swung forward and Harry jumped inside, yelling a hurried “Thank you!” as he did so. He quickly grabbed his broom and shoved his wand up his sleeve – a good place to keep it, actually. Soon he was scrambling back outside into the hall.

“Going flying are we?” asked the Fat Lady as the passageway sealed itself again.

“Oh, yeah!” replied Harry hurriedly; eager to get outside now he finally had hold of his Firebolt.

“Well, be careful!” the Fat Lady yelled after Harry.

“I will!” Harry shouted over his shoulder.

He practically ran through the school and into the grounds. He ran past Hagrid’s Hut, which appeared empty and looked dead and cold without the jolly giant living inside. Where was Hagrid then? Soon he could see the Quidditch Pitch looming over the horizon, and Harry just couldn’t resist.

He mounted his broom and felt his feet leave the floor.

The wind whipped his hair back and he let out a yell, only it was drowned out by the roaring of the wind in his ears. The feeling of weightlessness was incredible; Harry had forgotten how great flying actually was. He flew the rest of the distance to the Quidditch Pitch and dismounted at the changing rooms.

He was surprised to see Dobby waiting at the entrance.

“Dobby? What are you doing here?”

“Dobby hopes Harry Potter doesn’t mind, but Dobby would very much like to watch Harry Potter fly. Dobby has heard he is very great, sir,” mumbled Dobby, ringing his hands together.

“Of course you can watch Dobby!” said Harry a little taken aback. Dobby grinned widely.

“Dobby has got all the practice balls out of the store cupboard. Dobby didn’t know if sir would want them?” Dobby showed Harry the crate that contained the four balls.

“Wow Dobby, thanks! That’s great!” Harry moved past Dobby and picked the crate up. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, Sir, right away!” Dobby ran ahead of him to get a good view, and Harry walked to the middle of the pitch.

He set the crate down and mounted his broom once more. He set off and did a few laps of the field to warm himself up, and soon he was chasing the practice Snitch all around the stadium. He had decided to leave the bludgers in the crate, along with the quaffle, as there was no use for them. After many impressive dives and swerves and loops and twists – every one of them getting a round of applause from Dobby – Harry eventually looked at his wristwatch. The time was 12 o’clock – he had been flying for almost three hours.

As he did another spectacular dive, and his body filled with the adrenaline that could only be brought on by flying, Harry thought suddenly of his dad. He imagined his father flying around this very stadium. How many spectacular moves had _he_ performed? Had Harry himself performed any as well as James Potter had? And what about his mother? Had she sat in the stands and cheered for his father? Had Lily cringed every time he performed a deadly dive, or an impressive save? Had his mother even liked Quidditch?

Question after question hit Harry, each one more upsetting than the next. His heart ached – he would never know. He would never know what his mother had truly loved, he would never see his father play Quidditch, and he would never laugh with his mother, or play with his father. They were gone – Harry felt more alone than he ever had done in his life.

The fact that their warm, living bodies had sat and played in this stadium overwhelmed Harry. The fact that they had walked the corridors Harry now walked, sat in the common room where Harry now sat, and they would never live again. They would never be there to comfort Harry, to help him.

A single tear found it’s way out of Harry’s glistening emerald green eye, and traced its way down his rosy cheek.

He hovered in midair, mourning the loss of the two greatest people he had never known, completely oblivious to his rapidly changing surroundings.

A thin mist was covering the grassy field below Harry, and the wind was slowly dying away.

Harry raised a hand and wiped away the lone tear. He suddenly felt very drained, and didn’t want to fly anymore. He steered his broomstick towards the ground, but instantly started to panic when he found he could no longer see it.

He realised suddenly that the sound of the wind had been replaced by what sounded like a harsh voice that was whispering rapidly.

He closed his eyes tightly and wished for it to go away; the sound only grew louder. His eyes flew open as he felt something brush past him. He was horrified to see the thick fog had now engulfed him, and he had no hope of finding his way out.

“Hello?” Harry called, praying that someone would hear him. “Please! Help!” he begged into the fog.

A dark silhouette appeared in front of Harry, slowly growing larger. Harry stared at it, transfixed, his breath coming in short, terrified gasps. Whatever the thing was, it was moving forward, closer to Harry. Harry, frozen in the sky, let out a cry.

“Please! What do you want? Who are you?” For the thing had come into a much clearer focus. It was black as coal, the densest black Harry had ever seen. It seemed to glow in the thick fog, and look the shape of a human; a human floating in mid air, hung creepily by their own limbs.

It continued towards Harry, ignoring his pleas. Harry saw it raise what looked like an arm. Harry could make out a hand, and it was pointing at him. The thing was whispering, Harry could just make out its mouth moving.

It raised its hand and pressed it to its lips, whispering all the time.

“Please, I don’t know what you want!” begged Harry.

The whispering grew louder in Harry’s ears, only this time, Harry could make out a single word.

“Listen…” The voice seemed to be saying.

“Listen? Listen to what? Please –”

But the voice grew louder again in Harry’s head.

“Listen… Listen… Listen… LISTEN…”

The voice chanted, becoming harsher and harsher. The voice became too loud and Harry clapped his hands to his ears, his eyes shut tight.

The glowing thing seemed to be etched into Harry’s eyelids, raising its hand over and over again.

He let out one final anguished cry and opened his eyes.

The blue sky was back, the green grass was below him once more, and the floating figure was gone.

Harry let out a very shaky breath and began his hurried descent.

When his feet touched the ground, he dismounted his broomstick quickly and made his way to the exit as fast as he could.

Dobby caught up to Harry just as he was about to leave.

“Harry Potter! Harry Potter!” cried Dobby. “Is you alright Sir?”

Harry had completely forgotten about Dobby, and was relieved to see a familiar face.

“Dobby! Yeah, I’m fine, I think. What happened? What was that thing? Are – are you ok Dobby?”

Dobby was looking at Harry, clearly horrified by something.

“Dobby is fine, it is Sir who Dobby is worried about! What was Sir doing?” sobbed Dobby.

“Me? What do you mean, Dobby?”

“Harry Potter was flying in the air, and suddenly you started to cry. Dobby didn’t know what to do Sir. Dobby tried calling, but Sir just covered his ears and shouted. Sir was looking at something Dobby couldn’t see – Sir seemed very distressed!” finished Dobby, his eyes full of tears.

“But, what about the fog? And that thing that was floating? Didn’t – didn’t you see them?”

“Dobby saw no fog, just poor Harry Potter stuck in the air!”

Harry could feel his brain going at a snails pace – had all that just been a daydream?

“So, you didn’t see anything Dobby?” Harry was beginning to worry.

“No, Sir, nothing,” replied the elf worriedly.

Perhaps Harry was ill? His stomach felt quite empty, and he hadn’t had anything to drink all that day, but surely that wasn’t enough to create vividly real hallucinations of a … _thing._

“Is you alright? Does Sir need anything?”

“Urm, no, I’m good thanks Dobby. I’ll just go and have some lunch I think.”

“Dobby will go and prepare it, Sir.” The little elf vanished and left Harry alone and confused.

He made his way slowly back up to the castle, his legs heavy and his body shaking slightly. Had that really all been in his mind? Was Harry going mad? He could still hear the voice echoing in his head, he blocked it out.

As he entered the Great Hall, a small feast of tasty looking foods greeted him. His stomach tensed at the idea of eating anything, but he managed a small slice of shepherd's pie and several glasses of ice cold Pumpkin Juice.

When he had finished, Dobby appeared and cleared everything away with a click of his fingers.

“Thanks Dobby, that was just what I needed.” Harry still felt tense and alarmed, but he stood up to leave anyway.

“No, you must sit. Dobby has something for Harry Potter.”

Harry sat and looked expectantly at Dobby. Dobby reached into the breast pocket of his cardigan and pulled out a small vial. He handed it to Harry.

“Sir, must drink that, it will make Sir feel better.”

“Honestly Dobby, I feel a lot better now thanks. I don’t think I need it.”  
“Sir will drink it or Dobby will, Dobby will –”

Dobby paused as he tried to think of a good enough punishment. “Dobby will take Sir’s broomstick!”

Dobby dramatically pointed a long finger at Harry’s Firebolt, which he had placed next to him on the table.

“Fine.” He un-stoppered the vial and threw his head back. The bright orange liquid ran down his throat. It was slightly fizzy and tasted like grass. He scrunched up his face at the taste, but Dobby looked satisfied enough.

Harry felt much better. It was hard to be worried about the days past events when the potion was working so effectively.

“Can I leave now?”

“Where is Sir going?” asked Dobby as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Harry was considering retrieving his Broomstick Servicing Kit he’d received off Hermione last year. He planned to sit by the lake for the rest of the day and let his mind wander.

“I’m going up to the dormitory, and then down to the lake. Is that ok?”

“What does Sir need from his dormitory? Sir still looks too pale to be going all the way up to the seventh floor.”

“I’m fine Dobby, _really_.” But Dobby seemed set on helping Harry out. “Fine. I need my Broomstick Servicing Kit. It’s in my case under my bed. It’s brown and about this big,” he motioned with his hands.

“Dobby knows, Sir, Dobby will be back shortly!” The elf vanished and Harry stood up. Anxiety gone, he set off towards the grounds.

Soon he was sat in the welcome shade of a large tree, gazing out over the lake. Dobby appeared sometime later clutching Harry’s Broomstick Kit to his chest. “Here you go Harry Potter.” Dobby placed it on the ground next to Harry. “Sees you tonight, Sir!”

“Thanks Dobby,” said Harry, warmly, as he watched the elf vanish.

Soon he was working on his broomstick. A few twigs needed trimming and the handle could do with a brief polish, but apart from that, his broomstick was practically perfect.

He spent the rest of the day lounging about under the tree, watching the giant squid propel itself lazily across the lake. He even managed to fit in a little nap.

Just as the sun was beginning to loose its brilliance, Harry saw someone walking up the drive. On closer inspection, Harry realized it was Snape. Snape must have sensed him looking, for he glanced up at Harry.

Harry noticed that Snape was holding a jar in his hands, and Snape seemed to be making a very big deal of putting it away.

“What’s that?” questioned Harry, pointing to the jar as Snape tucked it away in his robes.

“Nothing of your concern, Potter,” smirked Snape. “Had a productive day, I take it?” asked Snape, eyebrow raised, as he took in Harry’s broomstick, and then the Servicing Kit.

“Yes, actually,” said Harry defensively.

“Oh, and Potter, I would appreciate it if you didn’t send House Elves into my personal stores to collect potions for you. What did you want with a stomach soother, anyway?”

Harry had been wondering where Dobby had got the potion from; he would have to mention it later.

“Urm, I went flying and had a bit of a, ah, funny turn I guess.”

“A ‘funny turn’? _Really?”_

“Well, I sort of blanked out and had a really vivid daydream.” Harry shuddered at the memory.

Snape looked surprised for a moment.

“Has this ever happened before, Potter?”

“No, I don’t think so anyway.”

“If it happens again, be sure to let me know.”

“Yes Sir.”

Snape turned and continued towards the castle, Harry was left to his thoughts.

Eventually, Harry followed, broomstick over his shoulder, and his Servicing Kit under his arm.

Just as he was about to make his way up to the dormitory, Dobby appeared, his arms outstretched.

“Dobby will take these Sir, Harry Potter can go straight to dinner.”

“Dobby, you really don’t have to –”

But Dobby had already taken Harry’s things and disappeared into thin air.

Harry made his way to the Great Hall and ate dinner alone. After a second helping of treacle tart he felt full to bursting.

He slowly made his way back up to the common room, and was surprised when he turned the last corner, to find Snape deep in hushed conversation with the Fat Lady. Harry cleared his throat to let them know he was there – he didn’t want to walk in on anything private, or weird. Snape turned round abruptly at the noise and looked at Harry.

“Mr Potter, I was just discussing a password for Gryffindor tower. Does ‘Phoenix Lacrima’ sound efficient enough?”

“Phoenix Lacrima, got it. What does it mean?”

“It translates roughly from Latin to ‘Phoenix Tears’. I trust you will stay in your dormitory, and will not give the Fat lady anymore trouble. Should I hear that you have disobeyed me, there will be hell to pay. Understand?”

“Yes Sir.” Harry sloped into the common room and the portrait closed behind him.

It took Harry a few moments to realise that there was something white and feathery fluttering in circles around the ceiling of the common room.

“Hedwig?” Harry called, slightly confused, but pleased nonetheless to see her.

At the mention of her name, Hedwig spotted Harry and glided down to land on his shoulder, a piece of parchment clamped in her beak. Her warmth and weight on his shoulder was reassuring. Harry took the letter and gave Hedwig a quick scratch on the head. She hooted once, and then took off into the night through the open window.

Harry opened the parchment. It was very short and had obviously been written in a rush.

 

_Harry,_

_I’m sorry if this note alarms you, but I need to speak with you urgently. Meet me by the lake at half past ten tonight._

_Wear your father’s cloak._

_Snuffles_

Harry stared at the note as his heart began to race. What had happened? Was Sirius in danger? He glanced at his watch. It had just gone nine o’clock.

Not knowing what to do with himself, Harry walked quickly up to his dormitory. He paced around the room several times, and eventually decided to clamber into his pyjamas. He slid into bed and removed his glasses. Horrible pictures came into Harry’s mind of an injured Sirius – what if something terrible had happened?

Harry heard the door open and immediately feigned sleep. He only just heard Dobby’s quiet voice.

“Is Harry Potter asleep?”

Harry gave a fake, but very convincing, snore, and then heard Dobby close the door quietly.

He lay there for another half an hour, gazing into the darkness as colourful shapes began to dance in front of his eyes.

Felling it must finally be safe, Harry got up quietly and dressed himself quickly. He reached under his bed and pulled open his trunk.

He grabbed his invisibility cloak and shut the lid again.

He straightened up and pulled the cloak on. As he did so, a bit or worn parchment fluttered to the floor – the Marauders Map.

Harry grabbed it and stuffed it into his back pocket. He tiptoed down the stairs and out into the darkened common room.

The fire was slowly dying as Harry crept across the room. Before he entered the portrait hole, Harry pulled out the map and whispered “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good” Lines crept all along the parchment, and eventually Harry spotted a dot labelled ‘Severus Snape’ that was pacing the length of the entrance hall.

He slipped the map back into his pocket and exited the common room.

The Fat lady snorted in her sleep and jumped awake.

“Who’sere?” Her words slurred together.

Harry ignored her and moved silently forward.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he chanced a glance back. He could see the Fat Lady scanning the corridor, but knew that she would never see him.

He made his way quickly through the rest of the school, pausing every now and then to check the map. Snape’s dot remained where it was.

Eventually, Harry found himself standing at the top of the marble staircase. He could hear Snape pacing, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

Harry wiped the map clean and began to descend the stairs, making as little noise as possible.

All too soon, he reached the bottom step.

Snape had never ceased in his pacing, and Harry was sure Snape would hear him.

Heart in his mouth, Harry began the long, treacherous walk towards the front doors.

Just as he had been dreading, when his foot touched the floor on about his sixth step, Harry’s ankle gave and almighty click, that echoed through the deserted hall.

Snape’s head snapped to stare in Harry’s direction.

“Potter, if that is you, I think it wise to reveal yourself. _Now._ ” Snape drew his wand as he spoke.

Harry held his breath as Snape began to approach where he was standing, sure his heartbeat was about to give him away at any moment.

When Snape was in reaching distance, Harry had given up all hope, but by some miracle, Snape stopped in his tracks and turned his head towards the dungeons, as though he had heard a noise.

Harry couldn’t believe his luck when Snape actually turned and headed towards whatever he had heard. The minute his robes had whipped around the corner, Harry raced over to the front doors, which were mercifully unlocked.

He ran down to the lake, his trainers appearing every now and then as the cloak blew around his ankles. He could see the silhouette of a large dog pacing by the lake. The dog obviously heard him, for it turned and began to growl fiercely, hackles raised.

“Sirius, it’s me,” whispered Harry.

The dog stopped growling and transformed into a sick looking man with matted black hair. His eyes were more sunken than the last time Harry had seen him, and he looked considerably thinner.

“Harry?” croaked Sirius, looking right past Harry to a point some ten feet away from where he was standing.

“Yeah, Sirius I’m –”

“No! Leave your cloak on,” Sirius’ eyes wandered around the spot where Harry’s voice was coming from.

“Sirius? What? Why –”

“I’m sorry Harry but I have no time to explain,” whispered Sirius urgently. “Harry, have you been having any strange dreams lately? Has your scar been hurting at all? Quickly Harry!”

Harry was stunned into silence.

“Wha- what do you mean? Sirius, what’s –”

“Answer me Harry,” growled Sirius.

“Urm, I don’t know! My scar’s been hurting a bit and I’ve been having weird daydreams –”

“What kind of daydreams?” asked Sirius, seriously.

“Uh, everything goes all foggy and there’s this weird figure thing. But, they’re just daydreams right? Hallucinations? Sirius, what wrong?” pleaded Harry.

“Harry, you need to be careful, do you understand?”

“Yes Sirius, but –”

“Shhhh!” Sirius held up his grubby hand to silence Harry. He was gazing into the distance, apparently looking for something.

Without warning, Sirius whispered an urgent, “I can’t stay Harry, I’m so sorry.” He transformed back into the giant dog and bound away into the forest.

Harry was just about to call out to Sirius when he felt something hit him in the back.

His body instantly went stiff and he toppled forward, the cloak slipping off his stationary frame. His head cracked against a protruding rock, and a sharp pain engulfed the right side of his head. He could feel something thick and warm trickling down his face as his eyelids closed. Harry Potter was lost to the world once more.


	5. "Oblivious, as always..."

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was home to many students and staff during the school term.

The students, of course, had their common rooms to live in during the year, and the staff could usually be found sitting quietly in the staff room or looking bored in their office. But when they weren’t marking student’s papers or setting harsh essays, where did they go?

It was common knowledge at Hogwarts that the staff all had their own private quarters, but no student had ever been lucky enough – or unlucky enough, depending on how one viewed it – to stumble across one. Not even the Weasley twins, and they were the biggest troublemakers the school had ever seen.

It was on the eve of the 28th August, 6pm to be precise, that a single student found themselves in the rare predicament of being in a teachers private quarters.

Harry Potter was lying, apparently in a deep sleep, on a black, leather-bound sofa. A deep green, silk-woven cushion propped up his heavily bandaged head, and his eyes fluttered gently as his tired mind filled with dreams.

He was covered with a velvety black blanket, one hand atop the covers, and the other safely tucked away beneath the warmth of the quilt.

A single, lone lamp was lit, casting a weak flickering light throughout the room.

Harry Potter stirred in his sleep, his arm slowly sliding to the floor and his hand coming to rest just above the silver and green rug.

A low table sat next to the occupied sofa; it was covered with bits of warn parchment and a couple of textbooks.

The room appeared to be deserted – minus the sleeping teen.

Shelves of warn, leather books lined the grey stone walls, and four or five heavy wooden doors could be seen, scattered about the room.

A dark wooden desk sat at an angle to the lonely fireplace, and was also covered with parchment, though in a much more organised mess than the table.

Overall, the room seemed very organised, and one would imagine the occupant liked to keep it that way.

One of the doors leading out of the room opened slowly, and a black robed, pale faced man appeared, carrying several vials of different coloured potions. The Potions Master crossed the room to where his slumbering student lay, and pulled out his jet-black wand.

He pointed it towards the cluttered table, and the mess vanished from view.

He placed the vials of potions onto the newly emptied table, and then began to work on lighting the dark room.

As he pointed his wand at each of the small lights in turn, they slowly flickered into life, making the atmosphere feel much warmer, and accenting the splashes of green throughout the room.

Snape glanced down at the unconscious teenager that had taken up his sofa, and sighed to himself.

“Only you, Potter, could crack your head open in the middle of the night, and knock yourself out for practically two days.”

Harry’s head lolled to the side, his mouth slack and slightly open.

“Oblivious, as always,” muttered Snape as he reached down and picked up one of the potions; it was a rich, deep blue.

He flicked the lid back and bent down over Harry’s sleeping form. Quickly and carefully, with practised hands, he manoeuvred the teen’s head so that it would be easier to give the potion. Soon, the deep blue liquid was trickling down Harry’s throat and out of sight.

This happened three more times. The first with a pleasant green potion, the second with an odd, murky-brown one, and the third with a strange, white-blue potion that seemed to glow, and had the consistency of treacle.

Soon, there was only one potion left - a dull, golden colour. To the amateur eye, one might have said it resembled Felix Felicis, or Liquid Luck, but to Snape’ trained eye, he could see the minor differences, and seeing as he had brewed it himself, he was not about to make amateurish mistakes.

“Now, do I _really_ want to do this?” Snape’s voice was full of dark humour.

 

When his spell had hit what appeared to be thin air, he had been startled. He had seen Black, he had been so close, and yet the cowardly mutt had bolted.

Never ceasing in his sprint towards the Black Lake, Snape had watched in horror as the immobilised form of Harry Potter had materialized out of thin air.

He had watched him fall, as if in slow motion, as the boy fell to the ground, cracking his head sickeningly as he did so.

Snape sped up, his frantic breathing filling his ears. He watched as pale lids closed over dull green eyes.

Lily’s eyes.

His heart stopped as he stared at the lifeless form of the boy he had vowed to protect. Deep red blood was spreading through the short grass, creating some kind of sick halo around the boy’s messy black hair.

All thoughts of Black chased themselves out of his head, replaced by the Healer Course he had taken in his first year of teaching at Hogwarts.

He immediately knelt down on the floor and grabbed Harry’s small wrist. He could feel a pulse, but it was weak. Harry’s breathing was slow and steady; for this, Snape was grateful.

Snape’s attention was then directed to Harry’s head. The wound was small, but was letting out a large amount of blood.

He rolled Harry gently over so that he was on his back, and moved his head to the side so the offending wound was facing the night sky.

He transfigured several nearby rocks into a long piece of clean, white cloth that he gently pressed to Harry’s bleeding head; it stopped the flow effectively.

Holding the cloth steady with one hand, Snape pulled out his wand and summoned several potions from his private stores.

He sat on the ground with the unconscious boy and waited tensely. Soon, several small shapes were zooming their way towards the two wizards.

Snape stuck out his hand and scooped them out of the air, laying them out on the ground next to him.

He gave them to the boy quickly.

“Stop the bleeding, clean the wound, cure the headache, something for the sickness,” muttered Snape to himself, repeating it over and over so he wouldn’t forget it.

As each potion was administered, colour began to return to Harry’s worryingly pale face. The bleeding from his head slowed, and eventually stopped, and Snape began to wrap a makeshift bandage around the boy’s head.

When all the potions were gone, Snape felt it was finally safe to move Harry.

He conjured a stretcher and lifted Harry’s surprisingly light body to rest on it. He marched Harry’s still form up to the castle, cleaning his hands of Harry’s blood as he did so. When they reached the entrance hall, Snape lead the way down to the dungeons. They moved past several empty classrooms and came to a halt outside a blank stretch of dusty wall.

Snape pressed a shaky hand to the door and whispered an urgent, “Ego mos amor sue semper.” The wall glowed a bright, brilliant white, and after a few seconds, returned to its natural, perfectly normal – slightly boring – state.

Snape, not at all concerned by the walls behaviour, marched forward, straight through the wall. Harry and his stretcher followed silently.

They emerged into a simple furnished hallway. As they continued down the hall, what could be called a sitting room bloomed into view.

A low, empty table sat next to a small, leather-bound sofa.

A wordless ‘engorgio’ charm mad the sofa expand to a much more comfortable size, and Snape moved Harry gently from the stretcher to the makeshift bed, using a spare cushion to hold his fragile head.

Snape banished the stretcher and disappeared through a door that lead out of the room. He returned moments later, his arms full of notes and books. He set them on the low table next to the sofa, and conjured up an armchair to sit opposite Harry.

He read late into the night.

He discovered that due to the nature and the combination of potions Harry had ingested, the boy would be unconscious for the next 24 hours at the least. He also read up on the best way to treat head injuries, and was soon swapping the old bandage wrapped around Harry’s head for a proper, more reliable one.

He checked in on the boy hourly for the next 42 hours, waiting for him to heal, waiting for when he could finally administer the potion that would wake the injured teen up.

 

And this was how Snape came to be sat, holding the dull, gold coloured potion in his hands.

He waited for a few more minutes, savouring the silence that was about to be shattered.

Feeling he had prolonged the inevitable long enough, Snape place the vial to Harry’s open lips and poured it into his mouth. Harry’s body gave a small shudder and Snape stood up. He glanced at his watch, focusing on the fast moving second hand.

“Three,” he counted aloud. “Two. One –”

“Sirius!” gasped Harry.

“No, Mr. Potter,” said Snape smartly. “But thank you for confirming that that _was_ who you so thoughtlessly snuck out to see.” While Harry had been unconscious, Snape had found it hard to feel anything but worry for the boy, but now he was wide eyed and conscious, Snape could feel the beginnings of anger and annoyance surfacing – the boy had disobeyed him.

“Huh?” Harry was looking around frantically. “Whe – where am I?”

Snape paused before answering.

“You are in my quarters, Mr Potter. You fell and knocked yourself out when you,” Snape paused again, feeling slightly uncomfortable, “when you were hit by a hex meant for Black. I apologise. Had I known you were there, I would never have let you get hurt.” Snape looked slightly pained as he finished; he had just apologised to James Potter’s son…

Harry sat there, his head feeling uncomfortably heavy. Had Snape just apologised? To him?

He opened his mouth to speak, but Snape cut him off.

“You were, however, not meant to be there at all. Do you care to explain what you were doing out in the grounds after curfew?” Snape raised an eyebrow and stared pointedly at Harry, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I was, uh, I was…” Harry gave up, deciding the truth would be the only way out, seeing as he had stupidly yelled Sirius’ name; he mentally gave himself a slap on the head, not wanting to do I for real, for fear of knocking himself out again. “I was meeting Sirius. He said it was urgent.” Harry stared at his lap as he spoke.

“Indeed? And what did Black want?”

“I- I don’t know Sir. He wasn’t really making much sense.”

Snape considered this as he watched the teen. Was he telling the truth, or just covering for Black??

“I will be back soon to discuss your punishment,” said Snape ominously as he turned to leave. “It is safe for you to get up, as your head is mostly healed, but do be careful. And don’t even _think_ about leaving this room.” Snape turned and began to walk towards a blank stone wall. Harry watched, waiting for him to turn and go through one of the closed doors, but instead, he carried on, and walked straight through the wall.

Harry stared for a few minutes, not overly surprised, but still pretty stunned.

He reached a hand up to feel his head, and jumped a little as his hand made contact with the soft cotton of what must be a bandage, wrapped tightly around his head.

He swung his feet off the sofa and stood up. He felt quite weak and his stomach felt very empty.

Deciding to test his legs, he took a few sluggish steps; they were a bit stiff to begin with, but he eventually got used to it.

Deciding this would probably be the only chance he got to explore Snape’s private quarters, Harry started to look around, pulling the cord tight around his ruby red dressing gown – something Snape had transfigured for him, no doubt.

The many books that covered the shelves throughout the room were all very old and very dusty. Most were to do with Potions, some were dedicated to the Dark Arts, and the others were just in strange languages that Harry had no hope of translating.

Feeling adventurous, Harry tried one of the doors – it was locked. He tried a second – also locked. Going for third-times-a-charm, he tried another door; the handle clicked downwards and Harry felt a surge of excitement. He pushed against the heavy door and it swung forward to reveal – a bathroom.

“Anticlimactic…” muttered Harry.

Not wanting to risk getting even more injured, he supposed he better stay where he’d been told.

Looking around the room again, this time he noticed a small, glass tank.

Intrigued, Harry went over to investigate. The tank was slightly warm, and was full of dark earth. A few branches had been scattered about, and a lone rock sat in the centre of the tank, but over all, it was a poor excuse for a habitat, in Harry’s opinion.

Harry jumped as a rather large cockroach suddenly scuttled out from under the rock; the movement making his skin crawl. He backed away slightly as two more joined the first. Soon, they were scuttling about all over, even making an attempt to climb the slippery glass. Harry looked at the lid and hoped it was securely on – he really didn’t like cockroaches.

He turned just as Snape emerged through the blank stretch of wall.

“Potter, you look pale again. Are you feeing alright?”

“Yeah, fine, it’s just those cockroaches,” he jabbed his thumb behind him. “They creep me out a bit.” _A lot_ , he corrected himself mentally. He shuddered again.

“Is that so?” smirked Snape. “They’re not actually mine, I’m looking after them for … a _friend_.” Snape’s lip twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “I procured them recently.”

“Nice,” nodded Harry. “Who keeps cockroaches as pets? I mean, who’d even want them in their _house?”_

“You’d be surprised,” answered Snape, sitting down at his desk. He pointed at a chair opposite him with a long, thin finger. “Sit,” he ordered.

Harry, dreading what was coming next, sat.

“So, you disobeyed my orders, snuck out after curfew, had a secret meeting with an escaped prisoner, and have been stealing form my private stores. Correct?”

Wow, thought Harry, when you put it all together, it sounded pretty bad.

“Yes,” mumbled Harry.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes Sir,” repeated Harry, slightly louder this time.

“Very well. Detention, I think.

“Yes Sir,” was Harry’s dull reply.

“You will spend the time brewing and preparing potions. Merlin knows you could do with the practice,” mocked Snape.

“I’m not _that_ bad,” retaliated Harry. Sure, he wasn’t great, but if needs be, he could still whip up a few decent potions.

“Of course you’re not,” said Snape tauntingly. “Your detention will take place on September first, starting at 6pm and –”

“But!” interrupted Harry desperately.

“- and finishing at 10pm.” Snape continued as though he hadn’t heard Harry. “You will eat beforehand, because yes, Potter, you will be missing the welcoming feast.” finished Snape, glaring at Harry, as if daring him to contradict his power.

But Harry wasn’t that stupid. As much as he hated to admit it, Snape _did_ have that power. Harry would most definitely be missing the welcoming feast, and there was nothing he could do.

“Yes Sir,” Harry said in a lifeless, defeated tone.

Snape looked surprised.

“Very well.”

They sat there awkwardly for a few moments, that is, until Harry’s stomach gave a very large, very loud, grumble. Harry’s eyes widened and his cheeks went red.

“Hungry?” Snape looked at Harry.

Without waiting for a reply, Snape gave a controlled swish of his wand, and a bowl of steaming hot, tomato soup appeared in front of Harry, along with a bread roll and a large goblet of cold water.

Harry stared at the soup, mouth slightly open.

“Oh.” Snape gave his wand a small flick. A shiny metal spoon appeared next to the bowl. He gave Harry one last look, than disappeared behind a copy of the Evening Profit.

Harry continued to stare at the soup; oblivious to the way his stomach was so desperately trying to get hold of it.

Snape looked up.

“Eat,” he said bluntly, and then disappeared behind his paper once more.

Harry picked up the cold, metal spoon and dipped it into the hot red surface of the soup. It was delicious. He ate and drank, savouring the heat of the soup as each mouthful ran down his throat. He ate the bread and began scraping the bottom of the bowl for the last few droplets of the superb soup.

Only when he looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth, did he see Snape staring at him, one eyebrow raised, a look of amusement crossing his pale face.

Harry coughed awkwardly, placing the spoon back into the bowl and pushing them both away.

“Satisfactory, I take it?” Snape stood and vanished the leftovers.

“Yes, thanks.” Harry was stuffed, and also slightly sleepy. How he could be tired after he’d just slept for two days was beyond him, but the thought of having to climb all the way to Gryffindor Tower made him want to just curl up, right there on the spot, and have a long, un-disturbed snooze.

“I think it better if you stay here for tonight; you’re head is still healing.”

Harry was very grateful.

“I shall be down in my lab if you need anything.” Snape looked at Harry with an expression that clearly said ‘Don’t even _think_ about needing anything…’ “Lights out at nine thirty.” Snape left abruptly through one of the locked doors Harry had tried.

Harry looked through the books on one of Snape’s shelves, and eventually settled for _‘Defence at its Darkest’_ for a bit of night time reading.

He sat down on his sofa-slash-bed and began to read.

Eventually, he was snuggled up under the covers, book propped up by his knees, eyes drooping and bandaged head lolling every now and then.

Two hours later, the Potions Master emerged.

All but one of the many lamps had been extinguished. A single flame cast a fluttering light over Harry’s peaceful face – glasses included – and his head was now resting on the green cushion once more.

A book had fallen to the floor; Snape picked it up with interest. He had forgotten about that book, come to think of it. He placed it on the table and turned quietly to Harry.

He was fast asleep, mouth hanging open and breathing deeply. He had kicked the covers off himself. Snape bent down and placed them carefully around Harry’s small frame, stifling a yawn as he did so. He then reached carefully for Harry’s glasses, and pulled them off slowly. He folded them up and placed them on the table next to the book.

Stunned by his momentary act of kindness, Snape cast one last glance at Harry’s peaceful form, and headed to his own bedroom. Before he closed the door, he cast a quick ‘knox’ at the lone lamp. It fluttered and died, and the Potions Master retreated to bed.

Harry Potter rolled over in his sleep, hugging the covers to himself and smiling as he did so.


	6. "We're your elders! You can't talk to us that way!"

The rest of the week moved pretty fast. Harry’s bandages came off – much to Harry’s delight – making his head feel wonderfully light and free, though he still had a slight scar and bruising around the damaged area. He returned to Gryffindor Tower, only to encounter a sobbing Dobby – “Harry Potter is safe! Dobby had feared that Harry Potter had died!”

Harry spent the rest of his free time either playing Wizard’s Chess with Dobby (who wasn’t very good, even by Harry’s standards) or visiting Hedwig in the Owlery. The first time he had gone to see her after his accident, she had rubbed her head affectionately over Harry’s bruise, making Harry feel much better about the whole situation. The weather had taken a turn for the worst, leaving Harry very sodden and dripping with rainwater after his visits to the Owlery. All too soon, it was August 31st.

Over everything, Harry was eagerly anticipating the arrival of his two best friends – Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He hadn’t seen them all summer, and tomorrow he would finally get to explain what had been going on.

As he was relaxing next to the fire, steaming mug of hot chocolate cradled in his hands – courtesy of Dobby – and enjoying his last free evening before the common room would be packed and noisy again, he got a fright when his Potions Professor appeared in the portrait hole.

“Bloody hell!” blurted out Harry, sloshing hot chocolate down his front and cursing softly under his breath as it began to burn. His choice of words was interesting; he really did spend too much time around Ron.

“Mr Potter, you are already spending tomorrow evening in detention, do you wish to make it the whole week?” asked Snape silkily.

Harry saw that Snape was holding a large bag that appeared to be full of books.

“No, you just scared me – you’re not meant to be in here,” Harry looked around needlessly. “This is the Gryffindor Common Room!”

“So it is; your skills of deduction never _cease_ to amaze me, Potter. It may, however, have escaped your notice, that I am a Professor at this school, and therefore have the privilege of having access to _all_ parts of the castle.” Snape continued to sneer at Harry. “I merely wished to drop off your school supplies; they arrived earlier today.” Snape crossed to a table in front of the blazing fire and dropped the bag onto its surface.

“Oh, thanks,” said Harry, going to retrieve the bag and trying to hide the very noticeable hot chocolate stain that was slowly spreading across his shirt. “I’ll just take these upstairs,” mumbled Harry, eager to get away from his sarcastic Professor.

Harry was halfway across the room before a cold “Potter,” broke the silence.

Harry turned slowly, awaiting his doom. He’d probably been breathing too loudly or something else ridiculous.

“The other Professors will be arriving tomorrow and I expect you to stay out of their way. Just because you’ve been parading around the school a week earlier than everybody else does not mean you will be getting special – Potter, what _is_ the matter?”

Snape broke off from his long spiel to stare at Harry.

Harry had dropped the bag of books to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere, and was staring in astonishment at the blazing flames of the fire. His eyes wide from shock and his mouth gaping, Harry could only point towards the flickering flames.

Snape, following Harry’s pointed finger, soon understood what had startled Harry.

Sitting in the grate, long beard being blown about slightly by the flames, and shoulders just visible before they disappeared into the red-hot coals, was the head of Albus Dumbledore, eyes crinkled and smiling up at Snape.

Snape hurried over to crouch down by the flames.

“Albus?” he whispered, trying to keep their conversation secret.

“Yes, my boy!” replied Dumbledore jovially. “And Harry! So pleased to see you both looking so well!”

Harry, intrigued, walked slowly over to the grate and joined Snape, who moved over slightly to make room for Harry, though grudgingly.

“Sir?” he asked weakly.

“Yes, Harry! Didn’t mean to give you a fright, but I’ve been looking for Severus everywhere, you see?”

Snape glowered at the use of his first name.

“And what, prey tell, did you need, Headmaster?”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to be a little late for the Welcoming Feast; a few things have cropped up that need, well, they need sorting out, and I’m the only one fit for the job.” He glanced up at Snape and they seemed to communicate silently for a few moments.

“What are you doing, Sir?” asked Harry, curiosity getting the better of him once again.

“None of your business, Potter,” Snape cut off Dumbledore’s answer.

“Would you like me to inform Minerva, Headmaster?”

“Yes, I think that would be best. Tell her not to worry, though, I shall be there to give the start of term notices.” He turned, then, to face Harry.

“Harry, I apologise. I was not there to pick you up last week, when I promised I would be. Can you forgive an old man?”

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes, Harry merely smiled and gave a happy “S’ok, Sir, it hasn’t actually been that bad really.” Harry subconsciously flattened down his hair to cover his now fading bruise. Snape noticed the movement and smirked.

“Good, good! Well then, I shall see you both at the Welcoming Feast!”

A look of guilt crossed Harrys face as Dumbledore’s head appeared to get swallowed by the flames. Snape simply smiled cruelly.

“Well, the Headmaster will be seeing _me_ at the feast, at least.”

Harry, ignoring Snape, stood up to retrieve his fallen things.

“It is late, Potter, you will eat in here tonight.” Snape was once again by the portrait hole.

A small tray of food appeared on one of the writing desks, Harry stared at it solemnly.

“I shall see you in the morning.” Snape disappeared through the hole and left Harry to eat in silence.

Soon, Harry retired to bed, his new books stored safely in his trunk. He was too bored to care that it was only half past 8, and too glum about the prospect of missing the welcoming feast to dream of anything pleasant, or even remotely interesting.

The next morning, Harry awoke to heavy drops of rain battering the window in the dormitory.

He dressed slowly, the weather not brightening his mood any.

He made his solitary way down to breakfast, the sound of the rain magically magnified inside the castle’s cold stone walls. It was only when Harry pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, revealing what was inside, did his face morph into a huge grin.

A single, long table had been set up, full of many breakfasting goods. Several people were seated around it, either talking quietly or tucking into a good meal.

Professor McGonagall was sat, a goblet of orange juice clenched in her hand, in deep conversation with Professor Sinistra, who was helping herself to some more toast. To her right, Professor Sprout had her head buried in the day’s copy of the Daily Profit, her muddy hat perched at a jaunty angle. A few spaces down, Harry saw a woman with whom he had never spoken to, but knew to be Professor Vector, Hermione’s Arithmanthy teacher. She was talking animatedly to Madam Hooch, who looked genuinely interested. Madam Pince, the librarian, appeared to be watching over everyone like a hawk – something she did regularly to students who dared to touch her precious books. Seated to the right of Professor McGonagall, was Snape, who, so far, was the only person who was watching Harry’s slow approach, fixing him with a cold glare.

Harry was making his way slowly to the one person who had brightened his day.

It wasn’t until that person turned his shaggy head to talk to Professor Snape, did he notice Harry.

He stared for a moment, and then scrambled to his feet, knocking the table and it’s contents as he did so. He lumbered over to Harry and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. Harry’s feet actually left the floor momentarily.

“Harry!” he bellowed, his beetle black eyes crinkling as a huge smile spread across his face.

“Hey, Hagrid,” said Harry as Hagrid released him, massaging his ribs, though grinning as he did so.

“Potter?” came McGonagall’s Scottish cry.

All eyes were on Harry now – well, almost all of them, as Snape refused to give the ‘Golden Boy’ anymore attention that he already needed, and was focusing his eyes on his bowl of cold porridge in front of him.

“Wha’ are yeh doin’ here?” Hagrid looked Harry up and down, almost assessing him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I think that is something we would _all_ like to know,” came McGonagall’s crisp voice.

Harry explained all about Dumbledore’s plans, and about how he had simply spent the last week here.

“Here? With you Severus?” Professor Sprout gave Snape a quizzical look.

“Yes, _Pomona_ ,” replied Snape smartly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have lessons to plan and a detention to prepare,” he shot pointedly at Harry. Harry did his best to glare, but couldn’t quite live up to Snape’s infamous scowl.

“Detention, Harry? Wha’s Professor Snape on abou’?” asked Hagrid as he steered Harry towards Snape’s now vacant seat.

“Oh, nothing really Hagrid, just Snape being Snape,” replied Harry, sitting down as Hagrid plopped down beside him.

“Hope he hasn’ bin too harsh on yeh,” winked Hagrid as he helped himself to several pieces of toast.

Harry laughed as he piled some sausages onto his plate.

“Detention, Mr Potter?” McGonagall arched an eyebrow sternly.

“Urm, yes, Professor,” said Harry meekly.

“School is not even in session yet and you’ve already received a detention. I think that must be a new record,” she said tartly, popping a bit of fruit into her mouth and turning back to Sinistra.

Harry had a very enjoyable breakfast from then on. He shared a conversation with Madam Hooch about the approaching Quidditch season, and listened to many jokes and tales from Hagrid.

Each teacher made their excuses and rose from their chairs, till eventually only Harry and Hagrid remained. Harry accompanied Hagrid out into the entrance hall.

“Well, Harry, I’ll see yeh around, I ‘spect.”

Harry waved to Hagrid as he disappeared into the fierce storm that was raging outside.

As Harry turned to leave, he saw the small form of Professor Flitwick struggling up the stairs with a suitcase that was much too large for him.

“Professor? Do you need some help?” Harry began to move forward, towards the tiny Professor.

“Oh!” squeaked Flitwick, and tumbled down the stairs.

“Sorry Professor! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Harry gushed as he rushed over to help the man up.

“Not at all, my boy, not at all, I just didn’t expect any students to be in the castle!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” grinned Harry as he helped Flitwick up.

“Well, I’ll just get rid of this.” Flitwick pointed his wand at the case and it vanished with a faint ‘pop’. “Tell me Harry, is there any food still left in the Great Hall?” asked Flitwick, patting his stomach expectantly.

“Oh, yeah, I think there’s still loads left.” Seeing as the plates kept refilling themselves, Harry could be sure of it.

“Ah, good. See you this evening!” Flitwick tottered off into the Great Hall and out of sight.

 _No, you won’t,_ thought Harry glumly.

Head bowed against the rain and wind, Harry set off at a run towards the Owlery. He had decided he was going to send a letter to Sirius. He tried to form the letter in his mind, not thinking about the razor sharp drops of rain that were pelting him from every direction.

 

_Snuffles,_

_I don’t know what happened at our little meeting earlier, but you’ve got me really worried._

_I’m fine, honestly, it’s you I’m worried about._

_Hope this letter finds you soon, as we really need to talk._

_Your Godson_

Something along those lines would do. If the letter was intercepted, they wouldn’t be able to work out who the letter was for, or who it was from.

Soon, Harry was tying the letter to Hedwig’s scaly leg and watching her fly away. He felt bad sending her out in this weather, but Sirius had really got him worried.

He waited in the cover of the Owlery for the rain to stop; it didn’t stop completely, but eased off enough to allow Harry to return back to school without looking like he had swum a length of the Black Lake.

Harry wandered back up to the common room and sat down graciously in front of the fire, effectively drying his clothes and warming his bones.

Harry found himself checking the grey sky all too often, eager for Hedwig to return, but he knew it would be days, maybe even weeks before he heard a reply, due to the fact that Sirius had to keep moving in order to stay hidden.

Harry went up to his dorm and found his bed had been made, along with the other four, which had before stood empty and unmade.

A little folded note had been left on Harry’s pillow; he picked it up with interest.

 

_Dear Harry Potter._

_Dobby has very much enjoyed the past week he has spent with Harry Potter, and Dobby is very sad that it has ended. If Harry Potter should ever wish to find Dobby, Dobby will always be down in the kitchens – Dobby would love to see Harry Potter again sometime._

_Headmaster Dumbledore sent Dobby a new pair of socks to thank Dobby – Dobby now has ten pairs!_

_Very much looking forward to seeing Harry Potter again,_

_Dobby – A Free Elf_

The letter was finished with a very curly, slightly messy signature.

Harry smiled to himself as he tucked the note safely into the back pocket of his jeans.

He glanced at his watch and actually let out and audible “What the?!” It was 5 o’clock, and his detention with Snape started in one hour.

He pulled on his school robes hurriedly and made his way quickly toward the Great Hall.

As he entered, he found the four house tables were back in their rightful places, and the Hall was alive with the four house colours.

He went and sat at the Gryffindor table, not entirely sure about what to do next. Just as he was getting desperate, a small feast appeared before his very eyes.

Harry helped himself to some warm stew, and even had room for some sticky waffles with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Just as the empty plates vanished, Snape appeared in the doorway.

“Not planning on being late for your detention, Potter?”

“No, Sir.” Harry sloped over to where Snape was standing.

“You’ll be pleased to know that the Hogwarts Express arrived five minutes ago, you may get a chance to glimpse your friends before they’re whisked away into the wonderful feast.” Snape’s voice was cruel and made Harry want to hit him.

Sure enough, when Snape lead the way into the entrance hall, it was already filling with students, laughing and joking, squealing as they ran in to get out of the rain. Some of them shot Snape and Harry odd looks, but none of them dared question the Potions Master.

Harry was just searching the crowd for any sign of a familiar tuft of red hair, when he heard his name being shouted above the crowd.

“Harry? Harry? Is that him? Oh, no, sorry mate. Harry? Harry?” That was when he saw them, searching frantically through the crowd, for _him_. A warmth spread through his body, and he was just about to raise his hand and call out to them when Snape jabbed him hard in the back.

“Move,” he growled in his ear.

Harry began an unwilling walk to the dungeons, all the while turning this way and that to try and catch another glimpse of his friends.

The final straw for Harry was when he heard Ron’s voice shout, “There! No, not there, _there._ Oops, sorry Neville. See him Hermione? But he’s with Snape -”

“ _Professor_ Snape, Ron –”

“Yeah, him, whatever. Hey! Harry mate, over here! Harry!”

Harry turned so forcefully that Snape actually had to place his hands on Harry’s shoulders and propel him the rest of the way.

“Hey! Get off me!” struggled Harry.

“Do not think I will not take points, Potter. Now _move_.” In the hustle and bustle of the crowded entrance hall, people actually had to jump out of the way when they saw Harry and Snape coming. Snape shoved Harry through the door that led to the dungeons and slammed it behind him.

Releasing his grip on Harry, Snape let the way to one of the Potions classrooms in silence. He came to a halt in front of one of the doors and opened it. He pointed inside, glaring at Harry.

“In,” he snarled. Snape watched Harry slope slowly into the room. “You have four hours to complete all five of the Potions I have set you. I have written instructions on the board for each of them, and all the equipment and ingredients you will need are in the store cupboard. I shall be back at 10 o’clock. Touch _nothing_ that does not concern you.”

He shut the door in Harry’s face, and Harry was left in silence.

He let out a long, pained sigh. At least it wasn’t so bad; he’d got to see Ron and Hermione, and they had gotten to see him. They knew where he was, after all. Harry would have hated to ruin their meal because they were worried about him.

Deciding he’d better get to work if he ever wanted to return to Gryffindor tower, Harry studied the five separate boards that had been set up, each containing different sets of instructions for the five potions, written in Snape’s spiky scrawl.

The first was a Confusing Draught, one that Harry had never attempted before, but looked simple enough. The second was something called Euphoria, and looked extremely complex; Harry was not looking forward to attempting _that_ one. The third was for a Shrinking Solution. Harry knew he could make that, as he had done so just last year, and without Snape breathing down his neck, he was pretty sure he could pull that one off almost perfectly. The fourth was a Pepper-up Potion, and was one that Harry was quite familiar with, having taken it himself. During the winter months it became quite popular, as it warmed the drinker up quite effectively. The only side effect being it left the drinker smoking slightly at the ears for a couple of hours. The last one was a Hair-Raising Potion, something that Harry had completed in his second year.

Overall, it wasn’t that bad. Apart from the one called Euphoria, Harry was sure he would be able to make them all.

He got to work, setting up five cauldrons and putting them on to boil.

After several trips to the store cupboard, Harry noticed a quietly simmering cauldron sitting in the corner. He went over to have a closer look, and was greeted by a softly bubbling, purplish potion. Not being an expert at potions, Harry decided to leave it and got to work on his own potions.

Harry was soon cutting up rat’s tails, measuring scurvy grass, adding precise drops of leech juice, and even having some fun with some doxy eggs he had found.

While all the potions were left to sit for a few minutes, Harry was enjoying bewitching the eggs to fly around the classroom for him to catch. They were just like a Snitch, only slightly smaller, blue, and a little squishy. His fun was spoiled, however, when a stray egg fell into the purple potion he had been looking at earlier.

He rushed over and watched the potion turn a sickening black. Feeling as though his life was over, he watched in amazement as the potion turned back to the much more pleasant purple colour, as quickly as it had changed before. Feeling his luck must be at breaking point, Harry left the potion for the rest of his detention and stopped throwing the eggs around.

He took all of his potions off the flame and allowed them to cool. All looked acceptable apart from the Euphoria. Instead of the recommended ‘sunshine-yellow’, his was a deep, blood red, not at all promising. He had got lost on the 45th instruction, and had simply given up from then on.

Just as he was cleaning away his things and placing the final vials of his potions on Snape’s desk, the man entered, looking smug.

“I trust you are done. They were not exactly hard potions, after all.” Snape’s eyes swept the room, as though assessing it for damage. Harry thought worriedly of the purple potion, but pushed it out of his mind. He had a horrible hunch that Snape could somehow read minds, and he didn’t want to put his theory to the test.

“Yes Sir, I put them on your desk. I didn’t know if you wanted them or not.” Harry was pretty sure that Snape would throw them out as soon as he left, but better safe than sorry when it came to Snape.

“Very well, I shall mark them as I would mark at OWL level. You may leave.”

Not waiting to be told twice, Harry rushed out of the classroom and was at the portrait hole in less than five minutes – record time, he noted proudly.

“Phoenix Lacrima,” he wheezed breathlessly.

The Fat Lady smiled kindly at him as the portrait swung forward.

“Some friends you’ve got there, Potter, they haven’t stopped worrying about you.”

Harry caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an empty common room, before two identical, red haired faces appeared, grinning madly, and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him inside.

“Harry!” exclaimed Fred.

“Our dear friend!” added George.

“Where’ve you been?” 

“We’ve been worried,”

“Well, Ron’s been worried, we were simply concerned about your whereabouts.”

“Curious as to where you’d got to.”

“Not Ron though, he’s been in a flat out panic all evening –”

“Have not! Where’ve you been mate –”

“Have too,” butted in Fred.

“You should’ve seen him Harry,” nodded George. “It was painful to –”

“Oh, Harry!” squealed Hermione as she launched herself at him.

Harry embraced her like a sister and was engulfed by a very large amount of brown, bushy hair.

“Where on _earth_ have you _been?_ We’ve been so _worried!_ And what have you done to your _head?”_

“See, told you,” came Fred’s voice.

“Yeah, even Hermione says you’ve been worrying Ron – you can’t deny it now.”

“Oh, shut-up will you?” was Ron’s immediate reply.

“Hey! We’re your elders! You can’t talk to us that way!”

“Watch me,” retaliated Ron as he walked towards Harry. He was as tall and gangly as ever, and had obviously grown a lot over the summer. They hugged a little awkwardly while Fred and George let out girlish “Awww’s” and “Isn’t that sweet’s”.

“Where’ve you been, mate? Hermione – she’s been really worried, I mean I – I wasn’t worried, well, I was, but not as much as Hermione –” Ron tried to amend as Fred and George guffawed in the background.

“So, c’mon Harry, where _have_ you been?” prompted Fred.

“We’re all dying to know,” added George, who was pointing silently at Ron.

Where should Harry begin? He took in all their grinning faces and couldn’t help but feel elated. His friends had missed him, they had been worried for him, and they _cared_ about him.

He began his story, surrounded by his friends, the happiest he’d felt all summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks so much for reading this far! I uploaded a few chapters at once just so people can get an idea of how the story reads. I'll update again soon! If you feel like leaving any comments please go ahead, it's been a pleasure writing this story!


	7. "Detention till you're 30..."

They all talked late into the night. Harry discovered that Hermione had gone to Spain with her parents in the last week of the holidays, and Ron and his family had gone to visit their uncle in Australia for three weeks – “Spent all our money, but it was well worth it. Fred and George put a spider in my bed though…”

They were all greatly interested in how Harry had obtained the bruise on his head, so he told them about his trip down to the Black Lake, but skimmed over the fact that Sirius had asked to meet him there, due to the fact that the twins were also listening eagerly. He could tell that Hermione and Ron didn’t believe he’d just been on a midnight stroll, but they kept quiet.

When Harry told them it was Snape who had hexed him, causing him to hit his head, he had practically shouted, “But it was an accident!” as the twins faces morphed into identical looks of shock, and Ron called Snape something that caused Hermione to gasp and shriek “Ronald!”

“But we were all thinking it Hermione!”

Harry grinned at his two friends as he let out a huge yawn.

“Hmm, I suppose it is late. We should really get to bed if we want to be ready for class tomorrow,” announced Hermione as she stood up and stretched.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right,” said Ron, also standing and shaking his legs to get the feeling back. “C’mon Harry, bet Dean, Seamus and Neville will want to hear what you’ve been up to too.”

“I expect Harry’s tired of telling that story, aren’t you Harry?” asked Hermione, a knowing look in her eyes.

“Yeah, a little,” said Harry, grinning sheepishly.

“Fine!” bellowed Ron, overdramatically, throwing his hands up in the air and rushing towards the stairs. “I’ll just leave you two to conspire against me! If you ever want to apologise for the way you’ve made me feel, I’ll be upstairs, crying into my pillow!” He raised a hand sadly to his forehead, gave them a fleeting glance, then threw his head back and ran up the stairs and out of sight.

Harry was bent over in silent laughter, and Hermione was shaking her head, grinning to herself.

The twins quickly followed suit, dashing after Ron, yelling things like, “Oh, Ron, you must feel _so_ misunderstood!” and “Don’t cry Ron, it’ll make your hair run!”

Wiping a tear from his eye, Harry finally looked up at Hermione.

“I’ve missed you guys.”

“Oh, Harry, we’ve missed you too! I’m just so glad your safe – I got so worried when Ron said he hadn’t heard from you,” said Hermione sincerely.

Shouts of laughter could be heard drifting down the stairs.

“Oh honestly, they’ll wake the whole common room up at this rate,” she tutted.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sort them out,” said Harry, mimicking – to the best of his ability – Snape’s menacing glare. Hermione let out a quiet giggle as she turned to head towards the girls dormitory.

“See you in the morning Harry.”

Harry nodded sharply at her, still glaring, and continued up to the dormitory.

Three tufts of bright red hair came into view. The bearers of said hair were laughing and play fighting, but the moment they saw Harry they stopped and stared up at him.

Harry, fighting to keep a straight face, put on his best sneer and mimicked Snape’s voice as best he could.

“Weasley, Weasley and Weasley,” Ron let out a snort. “How dare you disrupt the silence of the common room; 250 points from Gryffindor, and detention till your thirty. Now, get to bed, all of you.”

The twins stood up quickly and started bowing to Harry, their hands pressed together as though in prayer.

“Sorry, oh great and noble Snape-face,” chanted George.

“Won’t happen again, oh greatest of the greasy haired gits,” Fred added.

Harry watched them leave, all the while bowing, making it very hard for them to see where they were going, and saw them disappear up the stairs.

He turned, grinning to Ron, who was looking up at him with something similar to shock and amazement upon his face.

“Bloody hell, Harry – that was good! It was like Snape was really here!”

Harry laughed as he helped Ron up.

“Urm, thanks? I think? Guess I’ve been spending too much time around him!”

Soon, they were quietly slipping into their pyjamas and crawling into bed. Ron was asleep and snoring in minutes, but Harry, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

As he drifted off into a restless sleep, he was greeted by a scene he had been dreading.

Pettigrew was lying, twitching on the cold, earthy floor. Leaves rustled underneath him as his legs jerked out from some unseen pain.

“Please, Master, please! I did not think –”

“Silence!” bellowed a cold, high voice. It sounded immensely powerful, but at the same time, sickeningly weak.

Harry was watching the scene as though as a spectator. For once, he knew he was dreaming, and he knew he was safe.

Pettigrew stopped whimpering and scrambled up to stare at a large, carved, marble throne.

Harry explored his surroundings. They appeared to be in a forest clearing. The trees were heavy overhead, so Harry had no idea if it was night or day. By the cool temperature of the clearing, Harry guessed night. The ground underneath him was damp and earthy. An ornately carved, white marble throne was sitting, quite out of place, on a raised patch of ground. Harry could not quite see what was sitting in the throne, he was too far behind it, but his brain was telling him he didn’t really _want_ to see what it was.

“Are you truly foolish enough, Wormtail, to suggest that to me?”

“N-no Master! I merely thought it w-would be much faster! The boy is heavily protected, it would be wise to –”

“It would be wise?” The voice was growing dangerously in volume. “Do you dare suggest that I have not thought this through? You dare think I would not ask for the boy if it weren’t truly essential?”

Harry had moved closer to the scene now; he was creeping slowly around the edge of the clearing. _In any normal situation, they would have seen me by now_ , he thought hopefully. He was close to catching a glimpse of who or whatever was sitting in the throne.

“No, Wormtail, it must be the boy – we will get him somehow.”

Harry felt a surge of fear – where they talking about him?

“But how, Master? How are we going to –”

“With _this,_ Wormtail!” Pettigrew flinched at the sudden volume in the voice, and then a look of interest crossed his pointed face.

“With-with that, Master?”

Harry couldn’t stand it; he had to see what it was. He took a few more stealthy steps and stopped when he saw the occupant of the throne.

He felt his whole body recoil in horror.

Slumped across the seat, no bigger than a child, was the sickly looking form of what had once been Lord Voldemort. His skin was pale and translucent, blending with the pure white marble of the throne.

Harry took a disgusted step back, his foot breaking a twig as he did so. The noise seemed to echo creepily in the forest, and Harry realised – he’d made a noise. That wasn’t meant to happen – he wasn’t really there! If his body wasn’t physically there, how was he making noises?

He glanced up hastily and felt his blood freeze as the impossible happened.

Burning red eyes were looking directly at Harry, a cruel smile breaking over cracked, yellowing teeth. Voldemort’s hand closed over something he had been holding, and the other drew his wand.

“Harry!”

Pettigrew spun round and an evil grin spread across his ugly face.

“Now, Wormtail!” barked Voldemort.

Wormtail raised his wand and Harry was engulfed in pain as his scar seemed to explode. Harry felt his knees hit the floor, the material of his jeans soaking up the moisture in the soil. He cradled his head in his hands, his eyes tightly closed as he willed the pain to go away – and it did.

Harry looked up, panting, sweat beading on his forehead. Voldemort was glaring at a point somewhere past Harry, a look of utter fury on his distorted face.

Harry spun around on his knees, not caring that it gave Voldemort an open shot at his back, to get a good look at whatever had saved him.

A man – or was it a man? Harry couldn’t tell, as a familiar thick fog was surrounding him. He glowed, just like Harry remembered him, though he seemed to be made of the densest black Harry had ever seen. He was approaching Harry slowly.

“I should’ve known!” spat Voldemort, glaring at Harry’s saviour.

As the man drew closer, Harry felt a warmth spread through his shaking body and a calming whisper fill his ears. “Stay strong. Be safe. I am here.” For the first time, Harry was not afraid of this strange figure – he was not here to harm him, he was here to protect him.

The figure was soon next to Harry, lifeless ice blue eyes gazing at Voldemort.

“Wormtail! Get the boy!”

Pettigrew lunged forward, arms outstretched, towards Harry.

The man next to Harry raised a hand and Pettigrew was thrown backwards. His head hit the ground and he became still.

“You dare? You dare use the powers I gave you against me?” Voldemort pointed his wand straight at Harry. “Avada –”

“Help!” screamed Harry, looking desperately up at the man.

The man turned to Harry and looked him straight in the eye. A world of pain exploded inside Harry’s head, and the thick fog suddenly engulfed him.

Kicking wildly as the fog illuminated the sickening green from Voldemort’s spell, Harry felt his breath leave him. He was falling, falling down a deep black hole, never to return.

His head hit something hard and his eyes flew open. His scar was burning uncomfortably and a cold sweat stuck his hair to his clammy head.

He looked around wildly and felt his fear leave him as he took in the familiar shape of his four-poster bed; only it was slightly bigger than he remembered – had he gotten shorter? Assessing the situation further, Harry realised he was on the floor.

His head throbbing, though not from his scar – he had managed to hit in exactly the same place as last time – Harry pulled himself to his feet and wiped the sweat off his face.

Amazed that he had not woken any of his dorm mates up, Harry crossed the room quickly for a glass of water.

What a dream, he thought darkly, shaking the sight of Voldemort out of his mind.

Should he tell someone? Should he go running to Dumbledore with stories of Voldemort and a strange fog-man who whispered, when the man already seemed so busy?

Shaking his head, Harry headed back to his bed – he wouldn’t go running to someone every time he had a nightmare, and besides, it hadn’t even been that _bad._ It wasn’t like he’d gotten hurt or anything. He passed a deeply sleeping Ron who snorted loudly and muttered something about “bloody spiders,” and “stupid girlfriend.”

Harry got back to sleep rather quickly. His dreams were not haunted by Voldemort, but were instead filled with whispers and the strange man, and this time Harry did not fear him, for he was grateful he was there.

 

The next morning came quickly. Too quickly, in Harry’s opinion.

It was only when Ron threw a pillow at him yelling, “Get up, I’m hungry,” did he eventually force himself to leave the loving warmth of his bed and face the cold, stormy day.

They walked down to breakfast, sleepy-eyed and yawning, and took their usual seats at Gryffindor table.

Hermione poured herself some cereal, then instantly disappeared behind a book.

Ran gaped at her, and was just about to say something before Harry nudged him in the ribs.

“Leave it, I’m too tired to have a debate over who’s read the entire set list and who hasn’t,” he muttered in an undertone.

“Fair enough,” shrugged Ron, as he dove into a large bowl of sugary porridge.

Harry, feeling healthy, had a bowl of fruit and some toast. He was just about to reach for an apple when Professor McGonagall came towards him.

“No need to look so guilty, Mr Potter, I’ve simply come to deliver your timetables, and to check that Mr Weasley is indeed still breathing, as he hasn’t surfaced from that bowl in some time,” she added, glancing over at Ron.

Ron looked up at the mention of his name, a thin layer of sugar coating the outside of his lips.

“Oh, morn’g pr’fess’r,” he said thickly, mouth full of sticky porridge.

“Good morning Mr Weasley,” was McGonagall’s somewhat strained reply.

She handed them all their timetables and moved up the table, towards a chatting group of first years.

Ron looked down at his timetable and let out a groan. Harry, sensing his distress, looked down apprehensively.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” struggled Harry.

“What? Divination first thing on a Monday morning, then Double Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins last thing? Kill me now!” Ron flung his head down on the table.

“Oh really Ron, stop being so overdramatic,” sniffed Hermione.

“It’s alright for you,” replied Ron, snatching Hermione’s timetable, “You’ve got that Arithmancy thing –”

“It’s not my fault you chose to carry on with that stupid subject. Don’t take it out on me.”

Harry looked down at his watch in defeat. “C’mon Ron, we better go if we want to get there on time.”

“I don’t want to get there at all!” moaned Ron.

“Look at it this way,” said Harry, picking up his own timetable. “We’ve got Divination first, then a free period, then Care of Magical creatures with the Hufflepuffs, and then Defence against the Dark Arts – you’ve got a break between Divination and Defence.”

“A free period?” asked Ron, looking a little brighter.

“Yes,” chuckled Harry. “Sow _now_ can we go?”

“Blimey Harry, you sound more like Hermione every day. Fine,” Ron picked up his things and stood up. “See ‘ya Hermione.”

Hermione didn’t look up from her book as they departed.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with her,” muttered Ron as they made their way through the empty corridors.

Ten minutes later, they were standing under the trap door that led up to Trelawney’s classroom. Harry was a little anxious about seeing her again, as the last time he had seen her, she had predicted Voldemort’s rise to power – but then again, she predicted Harry’s death every other week.

The rest of their classmates soon joined them, who were all looking slightly bored and muttering quietly to each other. The only two people who looked truly excited were Parvati and Lavender, who were whispering to each other and shooting the class secretive glances.

“Hey guys!” Neville came bumbling over, greeting Harry and Ron.

“Hey Neville,” they said simultaneously.

“How are you Harry? I didn’t see you on the train – where’ve you been?” Neville’s eyes were alight with interest, but Harry was saved the strain of answering Neville when a long, pearly ladder descended from the ceiling, landed at his feet.

Neville let out a terrified squeak and backed away from the ladder.

Ron pushed Harry forward so he was forced to climb first. It was only when Harry was halfway up the ladder that he realised something. He turned down to look at his classmates, who were all looking up at him with great interest. “Hey, I’ve just thought. Why am I always the first one up?” It was true; he always seemed to enter the overly perfumed room first.

“Because you’re the one who’s supposedly gunna’ snuff it first, so you need all the time you can get in that classroom,” replied Ron, grinning. Many of the class laughed at this, even Neville gave a nervous sort of giggle.

Harry continued his climb and soon emerged into the sickly scented, stuffy room, that instantly made him want to curl up and sleep on one of the big, squishy armchairs.

He was joined quickly by Ron, and they made their way over to a table by the window.

Professor Trelawney seemed to emerge out of nowhere, her eyes bug like as ever. Her long shawls trailed across the floor – it was a miracle she didn’t trip over them. She gazed dreamily at them all, taking in their faces. She hadn’t seemed to notice Harry yet, and Harry hoped it would stay that way. She threw her hands wide.

“I see, children, that our numbers have grown smaller since we last met. I had, of course, predicted this.”

Ron sniggered. “You mean she saw she was a terrible teacher?” he whispered to Harry.

Harry tried to hold back his laugh, but unfortunately, ended up snorting rather loudly.

Professor Trelawney turned to Harry and a tragic look crossed her face. She started towards them.

“Oh joy, here we go,” muttered Harry while Ron bit his lip.

“My boy,” she said, raising a shaky hand and pointing it towards Harry. “You are in danger! You will soon find yourself –”

“Dying?” muttered Ron, raising and eyebrow.

“Sleeping?” called Seamus from across the room, winking at Harry.

“Falling?” suggested Dean, hiding his smirk behind a cushion he had found.

“Nope, sorry, sneezing,” finished Harry, as he let out a huge sneeze that made Ron double up laughing, and Professor Trelawney to jump in fright.

“No, my boy! You will soon find yourself betrayed by one you believed you could trust!” she finished dramatically to the class.

Harry turned to Ron and looked him up and down suspiciously. “Ron, you git, you’re gunna betray me?”

“Sorry mate,” said Ron, holding up his hands. “I want your Chocolate Frog Cards!”

The whole room fell about laughing, and Professor Trelawney, loosing her usual airiness, stormed to the front of the class.

“Today,” she bellowed, over the slowly dying laughter, “we will be focusing on Palmistry. Please open your books to Chapter 3, and begin reading. When the chapter is read, the person sitting to the left, take the hand of the person to their right, and begin to asses their future. Begin.”

She swept over to Parvati and Lavender, who were whispering excitedly and flicking eagerly through their books. The rest of the class was not so eager.

After the chapter was read, Harry turned to Ron.

“Hand, please,” said Harry, holding out his own.

Ron shifted uncomfortably as he placed his hand in Harry’s. “Don’t see why you get to read mine,” he grumbled.

“Oh please – mine would be too easy. The lines probably spell _Die. For God’s Sake, die!”_ This made Ron laugh and he relaxed considerably through the rest of the lesson.

When the bell rang to signal the end of Period 1 and the start of Period 2, Harry had come to the conclusion that Ron would have over fifty children, and should have died last Tuesday.

“Think you got your lines messed up, mate,” chuckled Ron as they headed back to the Common Room for their free period.

“Yeah, maybe,” shrugged Harry. “Either that or you’re just _really_ lucky.”

They spent their free period playing a game of Exploding Snap. Five minutes before the bell was due to ring, Hermione appeared in the portrait hole scowling at them both.

“You’re _supposed_ to us this time to be working, not playing stupid games.”

“Hermione! We haven’t _got_ any work yet – how do you expect us to do it?” asked Ron exasperatedly while Harry gathered his stuff together.

“There’s _always_ work you could be doing, Ron!”

“But Hermione! We –”

“Well, would you look at the time!” Harry interrupted Ron as he saw Hermione glare at them both. “Best be going if we want to get to class!” He ushered them both through the hole and they walked down to Hagrid’s in silence.

The rain had stopped, so they managed to stay dry through their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Hagrid had introduced them all to a crate of fuzzy looking, bright blue creatures called Huffywizzers. Harry thought the name was hilarious, and they looked exactly like furry pom-poms.

They were very cute, even Ron thought so, although they had a nasty habit of sending impulses up the holder’s arms that left them with a bad case of pins-and-needles.

When they finished their lesson, they waved goodbye to Hagrid as they headed up for lunch.

Hermione, much to Harry’s relief, did not pull out a book and stick her nose in it, but ate her soup as she gazed almost dreamily around the Great Hall, apparently lost in deep thought.

Harry ate his jacked potato whilst talking to Seamus about the holidays. Ron’s mouth was so full of chicken pie, he didn’t stand a chance of talking to anyone.

As the bell rang once again to signal the start of Period 4, the trio set off in the direction of their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Harry had a feeling in his gut that he was forgetting something extremely important, but he just couldn’t figure it out.

The feeling was so strong, in fact, that he didn’t even notice when Draco Malfoy rammed into him, snarling, “Watch it, Potter.”

As they took their seats at the back of the class, Ron and Hermione both gave Harry worried glances.

“Harry? Are you ok?” asked Hermione, a little tentatively.

“Yeah, Hermione, I’m –” Something clicked in Harry’s mind and he finally figured it out, letting out a rather loud “aha!” as he did so.

“You ok mate?” asked Ron, staring at Harry.

“Ron! Who’s our teacher?!” Of all the things to forget! Defence Against the Dark Arts was practically his favourite subject, and yet he’d forgotten that one major detail.

“Wha- oh! Of course, you missed it didn’t you!” Harry glared at Ron, who quickly continued. “He came in late with Dumbledore, we all thought it was pretty weird. But Harry, wait till you see him! He’s so – ”

What he was exactly, Harry never got to find out, for a deafening scream sounded from the corridor outside.

“What the –”

The three of them stood immediately, as did the rest of the class, and began to back away from the door, as it was currently being shaken and rattled by whatever was outside, as though it was trying to tear it off it’s hinges.

Soon, the whole class were crowded at the opposite end of the room to the door, wands pointed in the direction of the commotion.

“How strong is that door?” yelled Malfoy hysterically. He was currently standing on the teacher’s desk, trying to get as high as possible.

Suddenly, everything stopped, and the room fell silent.

Harry, unable to bear it, took a brave step forward.

“Harry, no!” shrieked Hermione, reaching out to grab him, but Harry stepped out of her reach.

“You’re barking!” yelled Ron. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Harry ignored them and continued towards the door, wand pointing steady in his hand.

When he was about five meters from the door, he wished he’d listened to his friends.

The door was blown off its hinges by some unimaginable force, as a huge growl issued from the hallway.

The class screamed in fear, and Harry stood frozen in horror, as an 11 foot long, fully grown, thoroughly angry looking White Tiger leapt into the room.

Harry stood, mesmerised, as the creature seemed to fly through the air. It was massive, Harry had to admit, but it was beautiful. The jet-black stripes that caressed it’s slender, palomino white body seemed to be outlined with a stunning silver, making them glow bright and shimmer in the sun from the window. It’s strong, muscular body sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. Its tail seemed to flow forever, and ended in a handsome blue-grey blend that Harry had never seen before.

Its face was a picture of power. Pointed teeth bared, mouth wide in an angry, deafening roar, Harry was sure he and Ron could both fit their heads in there easily.

Its fragile, thin whiskers were tipped with a beautiful dark red, almost purple, so subtle you had to be within centimetres of the thing to see it.

Unfortunately, Harry was close enough, as the creature had pounced on him and sent him flying to the floor. It was now standing on him; it’s huge paws on his shoulders, holding him down. It was incredibly heavy, but somehow the warmth of its body and the strength it gave off kept Harry from sinking into a dithering state of sheer panic.

Harry sucked in a deep breath as he met its eyes. They were fierce and full of a deep anger, but it was not that which startled Harry. They were breath-taking – literally.

They were outlined with bright, shiny silver, similar to the colour that lined its stripes. Its pupils were a dilated pool of inky black, but the colour surrounding them was an indescribably beautiful deep purple, or was it blue? Harry couldn’t decide, the colours seemed to blend together seamlessly.

His classmates stood watching in horror as the creature raised a powerful paw. Harry cringed, waiting for the strike, but it never came.

He looked up at the creature and saw the anger leave it’s distinguished eyes, only to be replaced by, amusement?

Harry, stunned, watched as the creature leapt gracefully off him and stood to face the class. In a blur of movement and colour, the powerful build of the tiger vanished, and a man stood in it’s place; a man with bright, silvery-blue hair that fell just past his shoulders – a colour that Harry had only ever seen in one other place.

The man placed his hands in his pockets and looked around at the terrified students.

“Now _really_ ,” his voice was warm and reminded Harry slightly of honey. “I was just about to maul young Harry here to death, and the most you could do was scream and watch on in horror? None of you even raised your wands!”

He turned and walked towards Harry, hand outstretched. His eyes were the same breath-taking purple they had been when he’d been the tiger mere moments before.

“I am sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, smiling. “I’m Professor Ferro, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”


	8. "You're like, the coolest teacher we've ever had!"

Harry was dimly aware that an odd looking man was talking to him. He wore a smart, crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of clean black trousers. His long jacket was a deep, emerald green, lined with silver on the cuffs and the collar. When he moved, another, lighter shade of green could be seen on the inside of the jacket. He also wore a bright, ruby red tie around his neck, which contrasted greatly with the green, but was also rather pleasant to look at.

The man held out a hand and Harry stared at it blankly. His eyes, thought Harry, and his hair!

His hair was silky and long and it shone in the sunlight. It was cut in layers, giving it quite a choppy, uneven look. At the end of each strand of hair, a single drop of colour, a deep, purply red, could be seen. It was very similar to the tiger’s whiskers, Harry remembered suddenly. It was not obvious that the colour was there – on the contrary, it was barely noticeable, but at the same time, it seemed to stand out like nothing Harry had ever seen.

The man was looking at Harry expectantly. Harry stared back, urging his brain to kick back into action. What did the man want again?

He heard a familiar voice come from his right, so he turned his head to inspect further. A girl was saying something to him. Harry took in her face, not listening to her words, and felt everything rush back into his head in a blur of sound and colour. He sucked in a deep breath and turned to his teacher.

“Bloody hell!” The class laughed, including the girl and a redheaded boy next to her. It took one more moment before everything clicked.

“Ron! Hermione! All of you! Thanks for helping me!” Harry stared at them all as they laughed again.

The man was still holding out his hand, so Harry took it gratefully.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry,” chuckled the man. “Professor Ferro. I’m truly sorry I pounced on you, it was cruel, I know, but I wanted to see how you would all react.”

He turned to the class as Harry made his way quickly towards his friends. Hermione pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug. “You complete _idiot!_ That could have been really dangerous!”

“Let the man breath, Hermione. He just got attacked by a bloody great tiger, that’s all. Used to it, aren’t you mate?” winked Ron as he patted Harry on the back.

“Yeah,” said Harry, dusting his robes off, the shock of the past few moments wearing off. “All in a day’s work, really.” Harry grinned at Hermione.

“Oh, shut up, both of you,” grumped Hermione, though there was no real anger behind her words.

“So class, settle down, settle down!” Professor Ferro’s voice sounded above the excited chatter that had broken out. “Mr Malfoy, it’s quite safe, you can come down from my desk now, there we go.” Malfoy climbed down somewhat awkwardly as the Gryffindors sniggered. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all,” he smiled around at the class. “Would you be kind enough to return to your seats, and I will begin the class.”

The class gasped as all the desks flew back into place, followed by chairs and bags that had been knocked out of the way in the false attack; Professor Ferro hadn’t so much as touched his wand.

“He’s powerful, he is,” muttered Ron to Harry and Hermione as they re-took their seats. “I can tell.” Ron let out a violent shiver that caused Harry to grin and Hermione to frown.

“Now then,” Professor Ferro clapped his hands together to get the class’ attention. “Any questions?” He looked around expectantly.

Hermione’s hand was in the air faster than anything, but for once, Harry couldn’t help noticing, so was practically everyone else’s, including Ron’s.

Professor Ferro looked at Hermione kindly. “Yes, Hermione?”

Hermione started at the use of her fist name, but recovered quickly, and gushed out her question.

“Urm, Professor, I was wondering what you’ve got planned for our course this year?” Hermione blushed slightly as Professor Ferro nodded and said, “Excellent question to start us off with, thank you Hermione.” Hermione grinned and looked at him eagerly. “I plan to start with our work about counter-curses – that will take up a great deal of time as there is a significant amount to learn. It had also come to Professor Dumbledore’s attention that it may be wise to look at the Unforgivable Curses.” The class took in a collective, shocked, breath, while Harry simply looked around confused. “But do not worry. Under no circumstances will any of those curses ever be performed in my classroom.” The class relaxed a little and Hermione seemed satisfied enough with her answer.

Professor Ferro moved onto the next question. “Yes, Dean, how can I help you?”

Dean looked up expectantly at Professor Ferro. “Can you teach us how to become Animagi? Like you? Because that was amazing. You’re like, the coolest teacher we’ve ever had!” The class nodded in agreement as several hands where brought down, obviously with the same question as Dean.

Professor Ferro let out a quiet laugh as he answered Dean. “No, I’m sorry Dean, I’m afraid that question might be better suited towards Professor McGonagall; I’m probably not the best person to teach something like that, but thank you for your praise – I’m glad you found it impressive and not horribly scarring.” The class laughed and Seamus corrected, “It was bleedin’ terrifying! But at the same time, amazing!”

“Why thank you Seamus!” laughed Professor Ferro. “Lets see, next question. Ah yes, Ron?”

Ron brought his hand down and stared avidly at Professor Ferro. “What did you do before you came here, Sir?”

Professor Ferro nodded and pointed at Ron. “Another very good question, thank you Ron.” Ron nodded and listened intently. “I was actually an Auror before Professor Dumbledore came and offered me this position. I started training as soon as I left school, and worked for the Ministry for twenty years. Out of interest, is anyone in here interested in becoming an Auror?” A few people raised their hands timidly, including Harry, and Professor Ferro smiled. “Excellent, if you ever have any questions, feel free to ask me.” Harry nodded and stored that piece of information in the back of his mind – he was beginning to really like Professor Ferro.

“Oh Sir, Sir!” Draco Malfoy was practically bouncing up and down in his seat – Harry had to use his hand to cover the grin that was spreading across his face.

“Yes?” asked Professor Ferro politely, watching Malfoy bounce up and down.

“I think you might know my father, Sir, he works at the Ministry too. I’m Draco Malfoy, you’ve probably heard all about me from my –”

“I’m sorry Draco,” Professor Ferro held up a hand to cut Malfoy off, “but who is your father? I’m afraid to say I’ve never heard of the name Malfoy.”

Harry never heard Malfoy’s reply, as he and Ron had their heads on their desks, trying desperately to stifle their laughter.

Harry felt Hermione give him a hard nudge, and he looked up, wiping a tear from his eye as he did so.

Hermione looked at him sternly, then nodded towards the front of the class.

“Now, if you would all please get your books out,” Harry nudged Ron and he jerked up, “and turn to page thirty, we can begin the lesson.” Professor Ferro turned and began writing on the board.

Harry, along with everybody else, reached down and retrieved his book. He opened it to the correct page and looked at the title with interest, _Simple Curses and their Counters._

“So, who can tell me which of these spells,” he indicated to the board, where four spells had been written in a disjointed, slightly spiky, hand, “would be most effective when fighting a dangerous animal? Lets say, a white tiger perhaps?” He looked around mischievously at the class. A few of the girls giggled, and even Harry felt himself smile a little. Malfoy was sitting, stony faced, staring into the distance.

Harry read the four spells; they were _Stupefy, Protego, Expelliarmus,_ and _Reducto._ Harry decided Stupefy would be most effective, but only if the animal had a weak spot. He watched as Neville raised his hand shyly and stared at Professor Ferro.

“Ah yes, Neville. What do you think?”

“Stupefy?” Neville sounded uncertain, but relaxed a little when Professor Ferro smiled.

“Correct! Well done. Stupefy would indeed be the best spell out of those four. Take five points.”

Neville was practically grinning at the Professor now. “Now then, lets say the animal is highly magical, like a dragon for instance, would Stupefy still work?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air and she began to recite a paragraph about dragons and their magical properties.

And so the lesson continued. Harry read parts of the chapter with interest, and learnt all about simple ways to block unfriendly spells. He took notes on the best counter-curses to use when faced with certain hexes, and he even won Gryffindor five more points when he demonstrated a perfect Expelliarmus.

Five minutes before the lesson was due to end, Professor Ferro gave an announcement. “Yes, I’m afraid I must give you homework, but it is not that bad, trust me. You must simply find a hex – anything from Stupefy to Rictusempra – and then find a spell that will stop or overpower your chosen hex. The chapter we have looked at today will help, and be prepared to show your work to the class. Ready for Friday’s lesson please.” He glanced at his watch. “Thank you for your time, you may leave when you’re ready.” He gave them all one last smile, then retreated to his desk. He pulled out a long sheet of parchment and a feathery quill, and began to write.

Malfoy stormed out of the classroom, closely followed by the rest of the Slytherins. Dean, Seamus and Neville left next, talking excitedly to each other. Harry and Ron packed up their stuff and waited patiently for Hermione, who was copying down the homework.

After a group of giggling girls had passed, only the three of them were left in the classroom.

“C’mon Hermione, you don’t have to copy it down word for word,” moaned Ron. Harry smiled as Hermione gave a quiet, “shut up Ronald,” that he was sure Ron didn’t hear.

Eventually, Hermione’s stuff was packed away too, and after a chorus of “Goodbye Sir’s!” and a warm smile from their Professor, they were heading up to the Common Room to drop their bags off before dinner.

“He’s an awesome teacher, isn’t he?” said Ron in awe as they headed back down to the Great Hall.

“Yes, he is very good,” agreed Hermione. “What do you think Harry?”

Harry couldn’t deny that he was possibly the best teacher they’d ever had, but a small part of him wanted to stick up for Professor Lupin.

“Harry?” Hermione repeated.

“Yeah, he’s great,” said Harry, a little forced, but it seemed good enough for Ron and Hermione, who directed the conversation towards their homework.

Harry was soon sitting eating a delicious roast dinner at the Gryffindor table, and laughing at the Weasley Twins latest antics, which involved a very annoyed looking Ron and a rather large portion of mashed potato.

By the time Harry was crawling into his bed, he was sleepy and looking forward to a long rest. He dreamt about white tigers pouncing on Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies, and didn’t once think about Voldemort or the strange whispering man.

The rest of the week flowed smoothly. Their lessons were becoming a lot more interesting. In Herbology, they were dealing with much more dangerous plants, and in Transfiguration, Harry had actually had to start taking notes in order to understand what was going on. History of Magic was the exception, of course, and was even more boring than Harry remembered it. Harry was even beginning to start enjoying the challenges their lessons brought – much to his surprise.

They even got to miss their first Potions lesson, due to the fact that Snape had been called away by Dumbledore, and no other teacher had been able to fill in for him. They had spent a very happy double period bombarding Professor McGonagall with questions to their whereabouts, only to be shooed away by the threat of house point deduction.

Friday seemed to come quickly, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“Double Potions,” moaned Ron at the breakfast table. Harry was tucking into some syrup-coated pancakes as he listened to Ron rant.

“It’s not too bad Ron, it could actually be quite interesting. I mean, all our other lessons have been –” Hermione stopped as she saw the icy glare she was receiving.

Harry ignored their bickering and turned up instinctively to look at the ceiling. Owls of every colour were streaming in, dripping with rain, to deliver the morning mail. He craned his neck, searching hopefully for the bright white that he knew to be Hedwig. His heart leapt as he spotted her amongst the other owls, but something was wrong. He waited eagerly as she descended, eventually landing gracefully next to his plate.

She was soaked to the bone and appeared to be shivering slightly. Her once immaculate coat was spotted with bits of dirt. Her feathers were ruffled, as though blown about by the wind. She gazed up at him, her beautiful eyes looking haunted and pained.

Harry took in her appearance and felt his heart break. It was entirely his fault that she looked like this; he had sent her out into that awful storm.

He glanced down at her leg as he heard Hermione cry, “Oh Hedwig, you poor thing!” and saw a very soggy piece of parchment with an all too familiar handwriting stamped across it.

He took it off Hedwig as he fed her a bit of toast. Hermione had cast a cleaning and a warming charm on Hedwig’s fragile body, and she had stopped shaking.

“I’m so sorry girl, go and get some rest.” Hedwig hooted once, then took off to the Owlery.

“Who’s the letter from mate?” asked Ron with interest.

“No one,” sighed Harry, defeated. “It was meant for Sirius.” He passed the letter to Ron who squinted at it. A very smudged ‘Snuffles’ could just be deciphered. Hedwig had failed to deliver the letter – Harry didn’t know what to think.

“You mean, Hedwig didn’t deliver it to him?” asked Hermione, frowning at the letter.

“Looks like it,” muttered Harry.

“But, does this mean that Sirius is –”

“Don’t be silly Ron, we’d have heard if anything had happened. It would be all over the news.”

Harry hoped that Hermione was right. He sat there for the rest of breakfast, not really touching his food. It was only when he heard Ron say, “We should go, Snape’ll kill us if we’re late,” that he got up with his friends, and they made their way down to the classroom where Harry had served detention earlier that week.

“I suppose Snape’s back then?” asked Harry glumly as they waited outside the door.

“Yes, he was at breakfast. Didn’t you see him? He was sat next to Professor Ferro.” Hermione blushed slightly as she mentioned their new Professor.

“Oh, bloody hell Hermione,” gaped Ron, staring at her. “You don’t _fancy_ him do you?”

“What? No! Of - of course I don’t - you’re just being stupid Ron - oh, shut up you –” She glared at Harry as he started to chuckle quietly. “Both of you - stop being idiots - don’t know what you’re talking about –” She stopped abruptly as the classroom door burst open.

Snape stood in the doorway, glaring at them all. Harry watched Neville shrink away and Malfoy look up expectantly.

“In,” was all Snape had to say. The class filed in silently. Harry and Ron took a desk right at the back, and watched a rather flushed Hermione go and sit with Parvati Patil.

They got their books out in silence and waited for Snape. He was busying himself with a cauldron that was on his desk. Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat next to Harry as Snape turned around and began to speak.

“Today, we shall be looking at a very interesting potion that goes by the name of Mighty Maxima,” Harry heard Hermione’s sharp intake of breath and turned to look at Ron, who simply raised a single ginger eyebrow and shrugged.

“Mighty Maxima is extremely difficult to make, but gives the drinker several moments of absolute strength, meaning any spell they cast becomes much more effective, and has interesting results on the person they are casting them on. Mr Malfoy, if you would come up here for a moment, I would like you to demonstrate.” He glanced over to Malfoy who got up eagerly.

Snape pulled out a vial and dipped it into the cauldron, as Malfoy swaggered to the front of the class and accepted the now full vial from Snape.

“Notice it’s distinctive purple colour, and the way it constantly bubbles in the cauldron, even when there is no heat.”

Harry felt his stomach lurch as his brain registered the colour.

“This potion has been brewing since Monday, and had been accurately prepared by me. A single wrong ingredient could destroy the potion, making it useless or even fatal. I assure you Mr Malfoy,” Snape smirked, “that it is safe to drink.”

 _No it bloody well isn’t_ , thought Harry anxiously, _there’s a bloody Doxy Egg in there._

Snape looked around the classroom as Malfoy watched him smugly. “Now, who should be our second volunteer?” sneered Snape. “A Gryffindor, I think.” The Slytherins sniggered as Snape began to advance towards a severely shaking Neville.

Harry was torn four ways. The first was fear for what the potion could do to Malfoy, the second was relief that for once Snape wasn’t picking on him, the third was pity for Neville, who looked just about ready to die, and the fourth was the uncomfortable urge to sneeze that was tickling his nose.

“Yes,” drawled Snape. “I think Mr –”

Harry sneezed violently and with spectacular timing, causing him and Ron to jump simultaneously.

“Potter.” Snape turned to sneer at Harry.

Harry stared back, terrified and frozen to his hard chair.

“Of course, Mr Potter wants all the attention, and Mr Potter always gets what he wants.” Snape smiled cruelly. “To the front. Now, Potter.” Snape stalked away to join a smirking Malfoy.

Harry fought back the urge to remind Snape that he was originally going to choose Neville, summoned up all his Gryffindor courage, and left a grimacing Ron to go and join the two Slytherins. He ignored the gleeful looks on the Slytherin’s faces, and blocked out the concerned Gryffindor expressions.

“Mr Malfoy will now drink the potion, and Potter will fire a hex at him. Mr Malfoy will put up a shield, and Potter will demonstrate the interesting effects the potion has.” Snape looked almost cheerful, which only made Harry gulp and the feeling of terror to increase.

“Now, Mr Malfoy.” Snape nodded at the blond and Malfoy smirked at Harry as he raised the vial to his lips.

“No, wait!” blurted out Harry. He didn’t know what harm the tampered potion would cause Malfoy, and he certainly didn’t want to see him dead, even if he did hate him.

“Scared, Potter?” drawled Malfoy as he smirked at Harry.

“Mr Potter, shut your mouth –”

“But –”

Snape’s glare made Harry shut up, and Harry watched in silence as Malfoy downed the potion. Even though Harry waited for the big puff of smoke, the scream of pain, he was in luck. Much to Harry’s relief, Malfoy didn’t collapse, he just smirked some more.

“Now Potter, shoot a spell at Mr Malfoy. I assume you know at least one spell that could be of use?” Snape paused to let the Slytherins laugh.

“Yes Sir, but –”

“Mr Malfoy, prepare yourself. A simple Protego shield will do.” Malfoy nodded eagerly and raised his wand to point at Harry.

“On my count Potter. Three –”

“But Sir!”

“- Two –”

“Sir, it’s the –”

“- One –”

Harry groaned and thought quickly of a hex to use, he just prayed he and Malfoy would be alive by the end of it.

“- Now!” ordered Snape.

“Furnuculus!” yelled Harry, as Malfoy yelled “Protego!”

There was a flash of light and they were both thrown backwards. Harry waited for the pain he was sure was about to come, but it never did. As he lay there on the floor, Harry felt perfectly normal, maybe even better than he’d felt before; he felt, _powerful_.

His thoughts were interrupted by an enraged yell from where Malfoy was currently sprawled across the floor. Harry looked up and tried to stifle his laughter.

Malfoy was sitting up, and he was covered in angry, red boils that were pulsating rapidly and growing to a dangerous size.

The Slytherins looked on helplessly as the Gryffindors howled with laughter.

Malfoy stood to face Harry, his wand pointing directly at Harry and his face scrunched up in a pained grimace.

“You’ll pay for that, Potter! Flipendo!”

Harry braced himself for a force that never came.

“Mr Malfoy, calm down immediately. 20 points from Gryffindor Potter – Mr Malfoy!”

Harry glared at Snape, but was soon knocked to the floor by the force that was Malfoy. His wand lay forgotten on the floor, as he had decided to charge at Harry and pounce on him.

Harry’s wand flew out of his hand as he hit the floor. Malfoy was punching his chest, hard. Harry tried to get away but Malfoy’s weight was too great.

Harry kicked wildly and felt his leg connect with something solid. He swung wildly at Malfoy, and was pleased to note that Malfoy was already sporting a black eye and a bloody lip.

Harry was just beginning to get the upper hand when he felt Malfoy’s wild fist connect with his nose. It shattered instantly and Harry felt warm, metallic blood pour down his face and fill his mouth. As blood ran into his eyes, he saw Malfoy raise another bruised fist and bring it down on Harry’s face.

He dully registered the sharp pain that was spreading through his head and across his face. The classroom was fading into the blackness that was so common to Harry these days. He sighed in relief as he felt Malfoy’s crushing weight leave his tired body, and disappeared into the impenetrable darkness that surrounded him and his broken body.


	9. "You kicked him! It was great..."

Harry’s nose hurt. A lot.

He raised a tentative hand and winced when it made contact with the newly fixed bone. The skin on his knuckles felt raw and his pulse was loud in his ears. He also felt a little hot and flustered.

He cracked open an eye and felt a small amount of crusted blood fall away lightly. He opened his other eye and blinked a few times. A high, stone ceiling came into view, dotted with windows that were allowing the sunlight to stream in.

Harry moved his head experimentally and felt its heavy weight cushioned by a soft, feathery pillow. He flexed his feet – his shoes had been removed. After several more minutes of quiet exploration, he came to the conclusion that he was, most likely, in the hospital wing.

Sure enough, when he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his eyes aching slightly, the clean, white walls associated with the hospital wing greeted him, along with a very stern looking matron.

“Well well, Mr Potter, the first week of school isn’t even finished yet, and here you are, once again in my hospital wing.” Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms and gazed down at Harry.

“Sorry,” mumbled Harry.

“Hmm, yes. Well, quite a break you had there Mr Potter, shattered the bone completely. It may feel a bit sore for a couple of hours, and be sure you don’t knock it.” She handed Harry his glasses and he put them on carefully. “You may also wish to clean up before you go socialising with anyone, you look a bit worse for ware.”

Harry nodded, searching the room.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“Oh, Mr Malfoy’s been and gone. Took me two seconds to clean him up. Though, there was one thing,” she gazed at Harry thoughtfully.

“What?” Harry’s voice sounded a little too eager. He hoped Malfoy had sprouted an extra nose, or at least experienced something hideously painful – rotten slimy good-for-nothing little –

“Mr Potter, would you please take out your wand and cast a simple, oh, I don’t know, lets say a Lumos.”

Harry shot her a confused look, then reached for his wand. He pointed it at nothing in particular and muttered a quick “Lumos.”

His wand tip, instead of giving off a pleasant, helpful glow, burst into a light so bright, Harry had to shield his tender eyes. He quickly put it out and blinked up at the matron, coloured spots of light dancing in front of his eyes as he did so.

“Just as I thought,” she sighed. “It would appear that Mr Malfoy’s powers have, so to speak, transferred to _you,_ Mr Potter.”

Harry stared at her, mouth hanging open. It took him a moment, but then - “Sorry, what?”

“When I asked Mr Malfoy to perform the same spell, he was unable to. No matter what spell he tried, his wand refused to work. Professor Snape explained that it was that which sparked the fight between the both of you – Mr Malfoy was unable to curse you, correct?”

Harry thought back. Malfoy had tried to cast Flipendo, but thankfully, it hadn’t worked.

“Yeah, I guess that’s right. So wait, Malfoy has no powers? At all?” Harry tried to hide the glee from his voice, struggling with his face to stop it from grinning.

“Yes Mr Potter. Until the potion is completely out of Mr Malfoy’s system, he will have no powers, and you, in theory, will have double the power, so be careful – I don’t want you back in here because you’ve blown yourself up.” She looked at him pointedly as Harry smiled weakly.

“So, can I leave? What time is it?” Harry rose off the bed to stand next to the matron, his legs stiff but strong.

“Dinner has just started, Mr Potter, and yes, you are free to leave when you see fit.

Dinner? He’d missed the whole _day?_ All because of a silly little fight?!

“Oh, ok then, thanks.” Harry began to search for his bag.

“Mr Weasley and Miss Granger came and collected your things during break, Mr Potter. I told them they would see you down at dinner.” She smiled at him kindly as she turned towards her office.

“Oh, thanks again,” replied Harry awkwardly. When Harry reached the double doors of the hospital wing, he heard Madam Pomfrey’s voice drift across the room.

“Mr Potter? I almost forgot, Professor Snape left this for you,’” she handed him a piece of folded parchment and left again for her office.

Harry stared at the note, waiting for it to burst into flames or start cursing him repeatedly, but it didn’t, much to Harry’s relief.

Instead, when he opened it, it simply read _‘Detention’._ Harry groaned and headed down to the Great Hall with dampened spirits.

Harry didn’t know where is detention was, or what time it started, but he knew he was in no hurry to find out.

“Snape’s fault if I miss it, stupid, slimy, Slytherin –” Harry stopped grumbling suddenly as he collided with something solid and green.

He looked up quickly and his eyes met a pool of deep, concerned purple.

“Harry?” Professor Ferro held Harry steady by his shoulders and watched him warily.

“Oh, sorry Professor, I wasn’t –”

“Good Lord, are you alright? What have you been doing?”

Harry stared back, surprised by his Professor’s concern. “Urm, yeah, I’m fine, I’ve just been to the hospital wing because –”

“But your face, it’s covered in blood!” Professor Ferro pulled out a thin, light looking wand and gave it a quick wave. Harry felt the dried blood vanish from his face, leaving his skin tingling and slightly itchy.

“Oh, thanks Professor, I forgot that was there.” Harry smiled appreciatively as Professor Ferro tucked his wand back into his velvety jacket. “I, uh, got into a fight and broke my nose,” said Harry, meekly.

Professor Ferro raised a delicate eyebrow and smiled at Harry. “I heard. I’ve just had Draco Malfoy in for a detention, I hadn’t realised you’d been hurt.”

“Oh, I’m fine, honestly.” They started to walk together, heading down to the Great Hall for dinner. “Sorry I missed your lesson today, Professor. I don’t know why I was out for so long.” Harry rubbed his forehead, trying to get rid of the dull ache that was beginning to form over his right eye.

“Not at all, Harry, as long as you’re alright?” Professor Ferro looked at Harry, and Harry nodded, just to show that he really was fine. “I noticed that Mr Malfoy seemed to struggle in my lesson today, something to do with a distinct lack of powers.” He smiled at Harry and Harry felt himself smirk slightly. “What were you muttering about when we bumped into each other, I was sure I heard the word ‘Slytherin’ in there somewhere?” He glanced around, as though trying to be subtle about something

“Oh, _that._ I got a detention off Snape, and I was just a bit annoyed I guess.” Harry shrugged as they descended yet another staircase.

“Oh, I see. Well, Professor Snape’s intentions can sometimes be unclear, Harry, just remember that. And besides, Slytherin house isn’t all that bad. We’ve produced some pretty descent people, at least, I like to think so.” Professor Ferro pulled his eyebrows together, apparently thinking hard about something.

“You were a Slytherin?” Harry had never thought about it before, but he’d certainly never imagined Professor Ferro would come from the darkest of the four houses – he was too nice!

“Oh yes, didn’t you know?” He laughed to himself. “I would have thought it was obvious, if the jacket I’m wearing is anything to go by.” He winked at Harry as he gestured to his green and silver jacket.

“So, did you know Snape? Was he as much of a git then as he is now?” Harry was amazed by what he’d just said – he’d just called a Professor a ‘git’ in front of another Professor. “Sorry, forget I said anything.” Harry grew red when he saw the sideways look Professor Ferro was giving him.

“Well, seeing as you ask, yes, I did know Severus. I was a Prefect in my fifth year when he arrived with all the other first years. Lucius and me noticed him, he was always rather quiet, and people seemed to overlook him. Lucius lost interest after a while, but I remained persistent, and what could be called a small friendship sparked between us. Over the years, it remained strong, and now we’ve had the chance to meet each other again. I’ve quite enjoyed listening to some of his stories, they’re very interesting.” Professor Ferro watched as Harry took in all the new information.

“Wait, Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? Mafoys _dad?_ You went to school with Malfoy’s _dad_ and you said you’d never heard of the name Malfoy?”

It was Professor Ferro’s turn to look guilty this time. “Ah yes, _that_. Well, you see Harry, me and Lucius never really got on. We were both prefects, you see.” At Harry’s confused look, Professor Ferro elaborated. “In my day, there were four prefects for each house, two boys and two girls, now I believe there’s only two for each house, am I correct?”

“Yeah, so why didn’t you like Lucius?” They had reached the entrance to the Great Hall now, the chatter from hundreds of students muffled slightly by the wood, but Harry was eager to hear more.

“Lets just say, we had our differences; that is a story for another time Harry, now go, enjoy your dinner before your detention.” Professor Ferro winked again and made his way to the teacher’s entrance.

“Thanks Professor, see you in lesson.” Harry waved as Professor Ferro smiled and disappeared through a door Harry had never noticed before.

Harry stood and faced the doors, sucking in a deep breath as he did so. He hated being late for things, and this was one of the worst things to be late for. Hoping no one would notice him, he pushed open one of the doors.

The Hall fell ominously quiet as Harry took a tentative step in. He could see faces watching him as he started toward Gryffindor table. After a few silent seconds, the Hall burst into and excited chatter, much louder than before. Harry tuned it out as he searched for his friends.

He sighed in relief when he spotted a waving Ron and an anxious looking Hermione.

He practically ran to their spot at the table, trying to ignore the threats and insults coming from the Slytherin table.

As he sat down next to Ron, he finally felt himself relax. He grinned sheepishly at them both as he pulled a plate of chicken wings towards him.

“Well, I am glad you’re alright Harry, but what on _earth_ happened?”

Harry could tell Hermione was dying to know; obviously even her calculating brain hadn’t been able to work out the morning’s unfortunate events.

‘Got right in there, didn’t you Hermione? You could have at least congratulated him on turning Malfoy into a temporary squib,” Ron nudged Harry playfully with his elbow. “Wicked job mate!”

Harry laughed at Ron’s awed expression. “I, uh, may have mucked up that potion at some point, not intentionally though!” He was forced to add the last bit due to the shocked look he received off Hermione. “But enough about that, what happened after I blacked out?”

Hermione shook her head at Harry’s laid-back attitude and disappeared behind one of her many books. Harry turned to Ron and looked at him expectantly.

“Well, you and Malfoy both sort of flew backwards, and then Malfoy tried to hex you, but that obviously didn’t work, Oh, and nice choice of spell mate, those boils were disgusting! A few of them popped after you fainted, it was gross.” Ron paused to eat a mouthful of mashed potato. He swallowed and then continued. “Then Snape took points, slimy git,” Ron stabbed at a carrot viciously before elaborating. “Malfoy ran at you and then you were both on the floor. You fought for a bit; Snape tried to break you up, but you managed to kick him too, again, well done –”

“I what?!” Harry sprayed his drink all over the table as he began to choke unceremoniously.

While Ron thumped Harry on the back, Hermione – looking a little disgusted – pulled out her wand and vanished the liquid. Harry sucked in a deep breath and looked up. Several Gryffindors were looking worriedly at him, a few Ravenclaws had also turned to watch, and Harry felt himself go slightly red when he saw the Slytherins laughing at him from behind Hermione.

“You kicked him. It was great,” Ron smiled wistfully, obviously remembering the moment.

“Ok, so I kicked him,” Harry turned around to look cautiously at the teacher’s table. Snape was in deep conversation with Professor Ferro yet again. Suddenly, Harry didn’t like the idea of his back facing Snape. He winced at the image of him kicking Snape – he was going to pay, he could tell. “Then what?”

“Urm, then Malfoy got your nose, the git, then you kind of stopped struggling. Malfoy got you again, pretty hard the second time, it looked painful, and then you were gone.” Ron looked at him sympathetically, Harry simple shrugged. “Snape pulled him off you just before your eyes closed. He was _really_ angry, Neville was terrified, bless him.” Ron looked fondly at Neville, who still looked a bit pale in Harry’s opinion.

The food vanished suddenly, only to be replaced by several delicious looking desserts. Ron smacked his lips together appreciatively as he pulled a large bowl of custard towards him. Harry, spoilt for choice, couldn’t decide what he wanted. Ron looked up at Harry after he’d swallowed his first mouthful of thick custard. “So, what _did_ you do to that potion?” Ron asked in an undertone.

Hermione looked up expectantly at Ron’s question and stared at Harry too.

“Fine,” sighed Harry, giving up on choosing a dessert – he’d choose one in a minute. “I was doing my detention on the Monday evening. The potion was there and I didn’t take any notice of it –” Harry watched as Hermione noticeably stiffened, her eyes suddenly becoming much more alert. He ignored her and carried on. “But then I got bored and found some Doxy Eggs in the store cupboard, they were great fun to throw around – don’t look at me like that Hermione, I was so _bored_.” Hermione was staring pointedly at Harry, slowly shaking her head from side to side. “Anyway, it was going great till one of them landed in the potion. I thought I’d wrecked it, but it looked ok after a while – Hermione! What?” Hermione was now staring at Harry, her eyes wide, shaking her head almost urgently. Harry noticed the Slytherins also smirking in his direction, some of them pointing at something over Harry’s shoulder. He ignored them to listen to Ron.

“So you threw a Doxy Egg into a potion that made Malfoy loose his powers? Perfect! I can tick that off my To-Do list!” Ron clapped him on the back and Harry grinned. Hermione practically cringed and looked almost apologetically at Harry.

“Hermione? What’s wrong with –” Harry stopped suddenly as a pale, icy hand clamped down onto his shoulder. He gulped as he registered the distinct lack of chatter that usually filled the Great Hall; it was silent now, apart from a few urgent whispers and the stifled laughter of the gleeful Slytherins.

Harry turned slowly to face Ron, the hand still clutching tightly to his shoulder as he did so. Ron grimaced and looked up fearfully. Harry followed his gaze and felt the colour drain from his face as he locked eyes with a vey angry looking Potions Master.

“Thank you, Mr Weasley, that was _exactly_ what I needed to hear.” He glared at Ron and Ron shrank away, sliding slowly down in his seat, as though trying to melt away. Harry wished he could do the same, but Snape’s grip was far too tight.

It tightened again and Harry was pulled roughly upwards. He stumbled from his seat and stood staring up at his enraged Professor, fearing what was going to happen next.

Snape, still clutching Harry’s shoulder, set off towards the big double doors leading out to the entrance hall, Harry following against his will.

Harry stumbled every now and then, and the walk seemed to take an eternity. As soon as they were out in the entrance hall, Harry heard the voices start up again, and glared angrily at Snape.

“You didn’t have to make such a big scene back there, I would have easily –” Harry felt his tongue fly to the roof of his mouth, cutting off his line of speech and leaving him feeling quite uncomfortable.

Snape smirked as he put his wand back up his sleeve. “You will not say another word, Potter. Now get to my office.”

He grabbed Harry’s shoulder again and steered him down through the dungeons. Harry, furious, was trying out every counter curse he’d learned in his recent defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, but he knew it was hopeless; he hadn’t yet mastered non-verbal spells, let alone wandless magic.

As they entered Snape’s office, Snape directed Harry to a hard looking, straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

Harry sat and stared straight ahead, wanting to stand up to Snape, but feeling powerless without his voice. He instantly regretted it as a familiar glass tank came into view, containing the three very disgusting, very ugly, cockroaches he detested so strongly.

He shuddered and looked away, watching Snape sit down and smirk at Harry’s discomfort. He placed a quill and several pieces of parchment in front of Harry and smiled cruelly.

“Due to your foolish and selfish behaviour in my classroom today, Potter, you will be writing lines.” Snape looked almost smug as Harry mutely reached for the quill and parchment. Insults were whirling around Harry’s head, each one more creative and offensive than the last. He fought desperately with his tongue, but had no luck.

He tuned back into Snape’s droning, not really caring enough to listen properly.

“You will write this,” he handed Harry another piece of parchment, covered in spiky letters that formed spiky words. “You will continue these detentions until it is finished. 500 lines, Mr Potter.” Snape stood and headed towards the door. “Oh,” Snape smirked as he looked at Harry, “and no talking.”

Harry glared as Snape shut the door with a snap. The sensation of his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth was unpleasant and extremely distracting. He sighed and pulled the new bit of parchment towards him. His lines were:

_However talented I believe myself to be, I have a definite lack of any Potions skills whatsoever, so therefore will not attempt to sabotage my Professor’s future potions._

Harry gazed at it blankly. All that, 500 times? These detentions would go on forever!

A small voice at the back of his head made itself known; you’d better get on with it if you ever want to leave, then!

It was then that Harry decided, much to his dislike, that the voice was right. He picked up the quill and began to write, trying to ignore the sickening scuttling sounds coming from the cockroaches.

Two hours and 150 lines later, Harry was still working away. His hand ached and he found the words didn’t even make sense anymore.

As Harry started another mindless line, his thoughts began to wander elsewhere.

How was it that he always managed to get himself into detention? Did it run in the family? He could just hear Snape’s snide remark float through his head, “You’re just like your father.”

Harry smiled at the thought. It was true, even Sirius had said that he and James were always in detention together. Harry could imaging them, writing lines or cleaning cauldrons together, joking and planning their next great prank that would most definitely land them straight back into detention.

Harry grinned and looked down at his page. He noted with some amusement that it read:

 

_However talented I believe my father to be, I am just like Sirius._

He stared at it for a moment, then scribbled it out hastily, not wanting Snape to be able to read it.

The thoughts of Sirius and his father had put him off his work. He set the quill down and stretched. He felt his limbs popping and clicking into place, savouring the welcome feeling.

The more he actually thought about it, the more depressed he became about the thoughts of his father and Sirius.

His father was, of course, dead, and Sirius was either going the same way, or in serious trouble.

The thought of Sirius, his last living relative – that wanted him, that is – lying somewhere, hurt or dying, made Harry stop and realise how little time he’d actually got to spend with his godfather.

The thought of not knowing where his godfather was, whether he was even still alive, made Harry worry, made him feel helpless, made him feel –

“He’s ok, Harry.”

Harry’s head snapped up and he opened his mouth in a silent scream.

The man – no, thought Harry, the _hallucination_ – from his dreams was standing before him. Black as the night, surrounded by a thin fog that clung to his body like a second skin. His eyes were bright a staring at Harry, a shiny, icy blue.

He raised his hand and Harry cringed, but warmth crept over him and he felt his tongue fall from the roof of his mouth. He relaxed a little.

“Who are you? How do you know he’s safe? How do you even –”

“I understand you are confused Harry, but you need to know that I will always be here for you.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but held Harry, captivated by his every word.

“But – but –” Harry stuttered helplessly, lost for words. “Are you even real? You can’t be real, you just _can’t!”_ Harry tried desperately to hold onto the logic that was seeping from his brain, surely this man couldn’t be real? Could he?

“If I seem real enough to you, Harry, then I guess that is real enough for me. Just remember he is safe, Harry, he is safe.”

Harry watched in astonishment as the man vanished into thin air. He sat there for a moment, not daring to believe what had just happened, and not really wanting to either.

He heard a door open slowly behind him, followed by a silky voice.

“Potter, you will return tomorrow evening after dinner and continue. You are dismissed.”

Harry stood slowly and headed towards the door Snape was holding open, staring ahead blankly. He didn’t hear Snape’s snide remark about, “getting someone to unstick your tongue,” and he didn’t see the way Snape was slightly on edge, glancing around almost nervously as he shut the door behind Harry.

Harry exited the office and walked blindly up to Gryffindor tower. He mumbled the password to a dozing Fat Lady, and didn’t even register the fact that the common room was deserted, save for two people, who were crouched down over the fireplace, muttering frantically.

Harry stood, staring at the both of them. One of them stood slowly and glanced in Harry’s direction.

“Harry!”

Harry came out of his trance instantly at the shout of his name and took in the scene again, this time with a clearer head.

Ron was stood, staring at him, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. Hermione was still kneeling by the fire, a slow smile creeping across her face, and in the fire, was a single head, bobbing merrily in the flames.

Harry walked slowly over to the fire, his head spinning as he did so. A force unseen by any of them hit him in the stomach. He doubled over as the breath was knocked from his lungs and a quiet voice filled his ears. “He is safe, Harry, safe with you.”

Harry looked breathlessly into the flames at the sallow face that was sitting in them.

“Sirius?” Harry gasped as he promptly fell to the floor, eyes closing and blackness flooding his mind, the image of his godfather still burning behind his closing eyelids.


	10. "Yes, Ron, I did 'dee dat'..."

“Bloody hell! Did you feel that? It was like –”

“Ron! Grab Harry!”

“Wha- Harry!”

Muffled voices were swimming above Harry’s head. They sounded worried, panicked. He felt himself crash into the floor, his eyelids closing involuntarily.

A joyous feeling swept through him, making him feel light and carefree – as though a large weight had been removed from his chest; Sirius was here.

If he could just open his eyes, he would see him, head sitting merrily in the flames, that wicked grin spreading across his face. He was right there! He fought with his heavy eyelids, trying desperately to pull them open.

Suddenly, a third voice joined the panicked two, a voice Harry had been longing to hear again.

“Harry? Harry! Ron, Hermione, can’t you wake him up?”

“We’re trying Sirius!”

“Hermione? I think his eyes are moving, come see.”

Harry was indeed moving his eyes; he was looking around blindly, trying to convince his eyelids to fly open like he was willing them to. He felt his glasses slip gently from his face and wanted to protest. He was awake! Couldn’t they see that?

“I think you’re right, Ron. Harry? Harry, can you hear me?”

_Yes, I can hear you; I just can’t open my eyes!_ Thought Harry angrily.

“Hermione, even if he is awake, he obviously can’t tell you, can he?”

Harry wanted to thank Ron, but his body remained frustratingly reluctant to do anything other than lie there, useless to everybody.

“Oh, Ron, please, I’m just trying to bring him round. Harry? C’mon Harry, wake up.” Harry could feel Hermione lightly slapping his cheek, and wanted to give her a slap back – this was ridiculous!

“Ron, Hermione,” came Sirius’ desperate voice, “I can hear someone coming – I’ll have to go –”

“No!” yelled Harry, his eyes finally flying open and his head cracking into Ron’s as he shot up.

Eyes watering and Ron’s groans filling the empty room, Harry crawled blindly towards the fire, only stopping when he felt the dangerous heat against the side of his face.

“Sirius?” croaked Harry, his head throbbing as his eyes began to clear.

“Harry! Are you –”

“Not now Hermione! Sirius? Sirius, I’m –”

“He’s gone Harry. He’s not there, can’t you see –”

“No, Sirius?” pleaded Harry, hoping his Godfather’s head would appear once again in the flames.

“C’mon Harry,” came Hermione’s soothing voice. He felt tentative arms wrap around his shoulders as he was lifted from the floor. “Ron, you’re bleeding onto the carpet.”

“But, he can’t be gone. I didn’t speak to him. He has to still be here. He can’t just –”

“Harry, shh, it’s ok.” Harry felt himself be lowered into one of the overstuffed armchairs, his body meting into the material. He could hear Hermione’s soft voice washing over his head.

Sirius was gone? He’d left? Had he been caught? All the hope Harry had felt for that one moment had disappeared through the fire along with Sirius. Harry stared ahead, only half seeing the common room. He saw Ron wandering blindly, hand clamped over his nose and blood slowly trickling down his chin onto the carpet. He reached up and felt his own forehead, wincing as pain shot through his temple.

“Harry?” Hermione’s worried brown eyes appeared and gazed forcefully at Harry. “Harry? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

“Yes, I can hear you Hermione, and yes, I do know where I am.” He stared back at Hermione with equal force and watched the worry slowly leave her face.

“Oh, Harry,” she grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “You’re sure you’re alright? You aren’t –”

“Oi!” came Ron’s muffled voice. “Forgodden abou be ave you? Doo busy fussing over de Golden Boy?” Ron glared angrily at the two of them.

“Ron!” cried Hermione, jumping up. “What on _earth_ do you mean?! What a ridiculous thing to say! You know, sometimes you really can be such an –”

“Hey!” yelled Harry over the two of them. “Will you both calm down and tell me what’s going on! Why were you –”

“Us? _We_ should calb dowd?” growled Ron. “You’re de one who waltzed in here and drew yourself at de floor! Or habe you forgodden –”

“Ron! That’s not what happened and you know it! You said yourself you felt something –”

“I didn’t _choose_ to faint, Ron!” snarled Harry, defensively. “And no, I haven’t forgotten what happened! I came in, you two were talking to Sirius, and then it felt like something –”

“Punched you in the stomach?”

“- yeah, that’s sort of –” Harry stopped mid-sentence and gazed around, confused. Ron and Hermione looked just as surprised as he felt. Harry followed Hermione’s gaze and his eyes stopped dead at the fire.

All three of them lurched forward simultaneously and crammed themselves before the grate.

“Sirius!” all three of them gasped, Ron rather thickly through his broken nose.

“But, Sirius! I thought you said someone was coming –”

“Id’s nod safe do be ere, Dirius!”

“Please, please!” urged Sirius. “Someone might here you!” Sirius looked at all three of them sternly, his red-hot eyes blazing in the firelight. “Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you three were mortal enemies – shouting at each other like that! What’s gotten into you?”

Harry felt his face grow hot and shifted a little uncomfortably. He felt the other two mimic his actions and they all looked at each other guiltily.

Harry cleared his throat and gave a muttered, “sorry guys,” which was answered with similar apologies and a pat on the back from Ron.

“Right, now that’s sorted, how are you, Harry?” Sirius’ face was full of concern, and Harry’s heart swelled as Sirius said his name with such warmth.

“I’m fine, Sirius, honestly,” ensured Harry.

“You’re sure it’s safe, Sirius? I thought you said you heard someone coming?” whispered Hermione urgently.

“It turned out to just be the cat,” replied Sirius simply. “I put it back outside and came back to find the three of you arguing!”

“You daw dat?” winced Ron.

“Yes, Ron, I did ‘dee dat’, but I didn’t see anyone break your nose – how did you manage –”

“That was my fault,” confessed Harry. “I did it with my head.” At Sirius’ raised eyebrow Harry quickly added, “but it was an accident!”

“Your head? Impressive,” smirked Sirius, grinning wickedly at Harry and winking at Ron.

“But, Sirius, what are you _doing_ here?”

Harry had to give it to her – Hermione had a knack for asking the questions Harry’s brain was generally too slow to think up.

“Well, it was mainly to check on Harry, and apologise to him for leaving him that night by the lake. Can you forgive me Harry?”

“Of course, Sirius, but what happened? You looked so ill.”

“I know, Harry. The dementors had been closing in on me for weeks, and I was worried it might have something to do with Voldemort –”

Harry felt Ron and Hermione stiffen at the name, and even felt himself go a little queasy.

“- and his followers. That’s why I had to check you were ok.” He looked hard at Harry, as though searching for something; Harry could only stare back.

“Do-do-do you dink You-You Know Who’s b-back?” stuttered Ron. “B-but, ee can’d be, ee jusd can’d!”

A little voice nagged at the back of Harry’s head, reminding him of the dreams he’d been having lately…

“No, Ron, I’m not saying he’s back,” answered Sirius comfortingly. “I’m just saying it might be best if we were all a little more alert from now on.”

Ron was still pale, whether from shock or blood loss, Harry couldn’t tell, but he looked a little more reassured than he had done before.

“So, you thought Harry was in danger?” questioned Hermione further.

“Yes, and you seemed ok, only you worried me when you talked about those hallucinations, Harry. They’re not still happening are they?”

Harry’s heart sank. Yes, they were still happening, and they were beginning to get more and more realistic.

“Hallucinations? Harry, you haven’t said anything about them –”

“That’s because they’ve stopped,” lied Harry. “I guess I was stressed at the time, but I’m fine now, Sirius. _Really._ ” The thought of Sirius risking his life just to make sure Harry wasn’t going crazy was not a thought Harry entertained for long.

“Good. The last thing we need is for people to think you’re going bananas!” joked Sirius. Ron and Hermione chuckled along with him, but Harry only managed a weak smile.

As Harry gazed blindly into the dancing flames, thoughts whirling through his tired head he felt Ron and Hermione’s bodies shift as they began to stand.

He glanced at Sirius’ bobbing head and let out a long sigh.

“I guess we should go – don’t want you to get caught,” mumbled Harry as he, too, pushed himself up into a standing position.

“Don’t worry about me, Harry, it’s your life that matters, not mine. But, I suppose you’re right, I best be going.” Sirius’ face flickered for a moment as the connection began to fade. “Ron, Hermione, it was lovely talking to you again.” Ron gave a tentative nod, and Hermione a little wave.

“Stay safe, Sirius,” pleaded Harry, the words leaving his lips almost urgently.

“I am safe, Harry, safe with you,” replied Sirius as his head vanished for the final time.

Harry sucked in a deep breath as Sirius repeated the hallucinations words.

“Will domebody _blease_ fix by dose?” cried Ron, breaking the silence and bringing Harry back to reality.

He took a seat next to Ron on the sofa and watched Hermione perform a complicated little flick with her wand. After the cry and the painful click from Ron’s nose, Harry relaxed back into the feathery cushions of the sofa, his eyelids becoming heavy as he did so. He felt Hermione curl up beside him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. Ron reclined into the same position as him, though his much longer legs stuck out at slightly odd angles.

Harry felt his breathing slow and allowed his head to rest on top of Hermione’s. She curled her legs up further, and Harry had no energy to protest when her knee began to dig into his rib.

They sat there, each one of them slowly drifting off to sleep, the dying amber light from the fading flames dancing across their peaceful faces. Ron gave out a snore, unheard by the other two, and they slept on into the night.

Harry dreamed of the Whispering Man again.

He dreamt that he watched the man carry Hermione and Ron away. He tried to call them back, but their eyes were closed, as though in a deep sleep. They disappeared into the darkness, and Harry tried desperately to follow, but his legs were too heavy. Then, Harry felt himself be lifted into the air, weightless and floating. He let his eyelids slide closed as the darkness became too much for his tired eyes, and slept on…

 

Harry’s eyes flew open as something wet, cold, and very slimy splattered across his face. He swiped at his head blindly as he let out a strangled cry. He could here a panicked voice coming from his right and he forced his eyes open.

Their dormitory came into a blurred view, quickly followed by a pale faced Neville, and what Harry assumed to be the wet, slimy thing; Trevor.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Harry! I thought I’d take Trevor down to the lake because he really likes it there, but he slipped out of my hands and I couldn’t catch him! I hope he didn’t hurt your forehead!” sobbed Neville, Trevor now squirming unhappily in his hands.

“Neville, Neville! It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” reassured Harry as he reached for his glasses. He smiled with relief as the room came into view and the slumbering form of Ron came with it; his dream from last night had been too realistic…

“I’m really sorry, Harry! I hope it didn’t scare you or –”

“Neville, I’m fine! Look,” Harry gestured to himself, “still alive!”

“Alright then,” smiled Neville, calming down and turning to leave. Just before he left the dormitory, Neville called, “you and Ron had better get ready actually, breakfast finishes in twenty minutes.”

Harry grabbed his watch and stared at it in amazement. It was almost 11 o’clock, and he wasn’t even out of bed yet – he’d never slept that long in his life!

He heaved himself out of bed, pulled on his battered slippers, and crossed to Ron’s bed. Ron himself was out cold, his mouth hanging open and his left eye twitching. Harry gave him a sharp jab on the shoulder followed by an unceremonious, “get up or you’ll miss breakfast.”

Satisfied, Harry made his way to the bathroom. After a quick wash and an attempt to brush his fringe over the spectacular bruise that had formed on his forehead, Harry changed into a pair of faded jeans and a shirt given to him by Sirius.

Feeling refreshed and alert, Harry returned to the dormitory to find Ron still fast asleep, his head slowly sliding off his pillow.

Feeling momentarily evil, Harry crept over to Ron’s bed, bent down to his ear, sucked in a deep breath and yelled, “Ron! Wake up! There are spiders all _over_ your bed!”

Harry stumbled backwards in fits of laughter as Ron lurched upwards and promptly fell out of bed.

Bent over in silent laughter, Harry felt a pillow, and then a slipper collide with the back of his head, followed by a very angry, “that wasn’t _funny_ Harry…”

After a few more choice words from Ron, and another laughing fit from Harry, the two of them soon found themselves in a slowly emptying Great Hall.

As they took their seats and started shovelling sausages onto their plates, a very disgruntled looking Hermione came half walking, half jogging, to the table. She flung herself down opposite them and breathlessly pulled a bowl of steaming porridge towards her.

“I can’t _believe_ those girls. Just standing there, gossiping – I’ve missed two hours of possible study time thanks to them!” Hermione finished a little hysterically. Harry stared at her, partly in shock, and partly out of fear.

“Oh, Ronald, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” ordered Hermione. Ron did as he was told but continued to stare on in fear.

“I suppose you two have only just woken up too?” snapped Hermione as she threw sugar over her bowl, and also partly over Harry.

“Uh, yeah,” shrugged Harry, shaking the excess sugar out of his hair. “Neville woke me up and I woke Ron up.” Harry stifled a laugh as Ron scowled into his goblet.

“Oh, _Neville_ woke you up did he?” questioned Hermione, again, sounding rather hysterical.

“Well, yeah, I mean, I supposed you could say it was Trevorthat did the waking up part, but –”

“Oh, _honestly!_ You two scare me sometimes!” She looked at them both as she slammed her spoon down.

“We scare you?” cried Ron. “Take a look at yourself –”

“When Neville woke you up, were you in your _dormitory?”_

“Of course we were in our dormitory, Hermione, where else would we –” Harry stopped as the image of them all curled up on the sofa swam to the front of his mind. They’d all fallen asleep there, so how had they ended up in their beds?

“Oh, _finally!”_ sighed Hermione, looking a little relieved and much more civilised as she took a dainty spoonful of porridge and popped it into her mouth.

“What are you two on about – oh!” gasped Ron as realisation struck for him too. All three of them stared at each other for a few, long, confused moments.

“Well, anyone remember anything?” prompted Ron, trying to sound casual.

“That’s the thing,” said Hermione, almost eagerly. “I remember feeling really light, like I was floating, and then everything went really dark. Then I woke up to Lavender and Parvati giggling at me and I almost missed breakfast,” scowled Hermione.

“Yeah,” nodded Ron. “I remember everything going really dark too, like I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to.” Hermione nodded in agreement and turned to look at Harry.

“What do you remember Harry?” They both looked at him expectantly and Harry felt his palms begin to sweat. He’d supposedly dreamt of them being carried away into the darkness, but how could he explain that?

“Nothing. I don’t remember anything.” Harry licked his lips nervously as he waited for their response.

“You can’t remember anything? Not even any dreams?” Hermione sounded disappointed, which only made Harry feel even worse. “Not even –”

“It would appear that the Golden Trio have once again decided that rules don’t seem to apply to them.”

Harry slid partly off the bench in fright as Snape’s towering form loomed into view. Ron and Hermione jumped violently and dropped everything. Ron’s fork went clattering to the table, and Hermione’s juice spilled across the wooden surface. Their food disappeared with a faint ‘pop’, as though it, too, was keen to get as far away as possible from Snape.

“Seeing as breakfast has now finished, and you have no business to be in the Great Hall, I suggest you get out,” snapped Snape as he glared at them. “And Potter, head injury will not get you out of tonight’s detention, no matter how hard you may have fallen off your broomstick.”

As quickly as they could, they stood up and left the glowering Snape behind, Harry feeing uneasy as they emerged into the breezy courtyard.

“Slimy git,” growled Ron. “Practically gave me a heart attack!” Ron kicked violently at a stone, and Harry watched it fly through the air and shatter against a wall.

“Ron, please don’t call one of our Professors a git.” At Ron’s outraged look, Hermione quickly added, “even if he is one.”

Harry smirked at Hermione’s unusual bluntness when it came to insulting teachers, and Hermione grinned back.

“Fair play,” nodded Ron, smiling too. “Oh, God, why do those two look so happy?” Ron’s smile turned into a pained grimace and the grinning faces of Fred and George quickly approached them.

“Ron!” cried Fred.

“Our little brother,” sighed George.

“So happy to see you looking so well! And Hermione!”

“Dear, sweet Hermione,” crooned George.

“You look lovely, as always!” sang Fred.

“And Harry!” gasped George.

“Mr Potter!” added Fred.

“Such an honour it is to –”

“What do you two want?” asked Ron, impatiently.

“Want? _Want?”_ cried Fred dramatically. “Why, dearest brother, we do not _want_ anything!”

“What we want is of little importance on this fine day!” continued George.

“They scare me when they’re like this,” Ron muttered in an undertone as Fred and George began to pull them towards an unknown destination.

“We just wondered if you would be gracious enough to bless us with your presence down by the lake?” questioned Fred.

“It would be the perfect opportunity to –”

“Why do you want us to come to the lake?” asked Ron, sceptically.

“Ah, dear brother, all will be revealed in time!” answered George as Fred began to herd them in the direction of the black lake.

Harry stumbled as Fred pushed them, and he began to feel hot and stuffy, enclosed in a small space until –

“Wait!” cried Harry.

“Harry?” Hermione looked at him in concern.

“You ok, mate?” questioned Ron.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just remembered I have to do something – I’ll catch you up at the lake.” He detached himself from the group and waved them off, while Fred and George shouted, “you’ll be missed, Harry!” and “I suppose the plan will work with just two…” to which Harry heard Ron cry, “Plan? What plan?”

He smiled as his friends’ voices disappeared over the hill. He began to walk blindly across the blustery grounds, savouring the cold wind on his clammy, bruised forehead.

“C’mon, Harry,” he muttered to himself. “Snap out of it. You’re _not_ going crazy.” _Oh yeah,_ thought Harry, _you’re talking to yourself – definitely not crazy…_

With a sigh, Harry sat down under a lone tree. As the wind moved through the branches and leaves, Harry felt his body begin to calm down. He relaxed into the trunk and moved his hands through the soft grass, breathing in time with the wind.

For some reason, Harry sat there for hours, forgetting about the world around him, lost in his thoughts.

As Harry returned to reality sometime later, he noticed a small shape in the air, bobbing up and down in the wind. He watched it with interest as it began its descent. As it came closer, he realised it was a butterfly. No bigger than a sickle, it fluttered delicately onto his knee and looked up at him.

“Hello there,” voiced Harry, experimentally. The brilliant white butterfly continued to look up at him, it’s wings being blown about slightly by the wind.

As Harry continued to examine it, he noticed the delicate pattern etched across its wings. Swirls of grey and blue intertwined on the silky soft surface. The edges of its wings were a deep, royal blue, with a hint of purple at either end. It’s antennae moved with interest as Harry continued to gaze in its direction.

“You look very magical,” said Harry, feeling a little foolish, but also wanting to voice his thoughts to the butterfly.

The butterfly looked up at Harry, gave a little shudder, then did what Harry could only describe as a miniature sneeze.

A cloud of silvery glitter exploded out around the butterfly and settled on Harry’s knee. The butterfly shook its wings, as though dusting itself off, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Was that you proving you’re magical?” chuckled Harry, fondly.

The butterfly seemed to nod happily at Harry, which only made Harry smile more.

“What are you grinning at, Potter?”

Harry’s head shot up at the cool, drawling voice he’d learned to detest.

Draco Malfoy, flanked by a menacing looking Crabbe and Goyle, was strutting towards Harry, a cruel hunger dancing in his cold, grey eyes.

Harry jerked his knee and shooed the butterfly away. “Go on, “ he whispered urgently, watching sadly as it flew away towards the forest.

“Got an imaginary friend, Potter?” smirked Malfoy as he came to tower above Harry. “Can’t get any normal friends, so you have to make your own?”

Harry made to stand, but Crabbe and Goyle got there first. Their combined weight pressing down on his shoulders forced him to slide back down to the ground, his back scraping painfully against the rough bark of the tree.

“You’re pathetic, Potter, and you’re going to pay for stealing my magic.”

Harry began to panic as Malfoy rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

“I didn’t steal your –” But Harry’s comeback was cut short by a cry of pain that escaped his lips. Malfoy had kicked out at Harry’s shins, and now Harry’s eyes were beginning to water from the pain.

“Oh, little baby Potter, crying for mummy?” Malfoy nodded at Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry was heaved to his feet. He felt his wand leave his back pocket and saw it fly through the air, only to be caught by Malfoy and pocketed. He struggled as Crabbe and Goyle pressed his arms tight to his side, but it was hopeless.

He felt Malfoy’s face move closer to his, could feel his icy breath hitting his nose. Their eyes met; emerald green locked with steel grey. Malfoy’s thin lips curled into a cruel sneer. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Potter – your mother’s dead.” With a gleeful grin, Malfoy punched Harry, hard, in the stomach. Harry’s breath left him as his body tried to double up in pain, but Crabbe and Goyle’s grip was too tight for Harry to move.

Harry felt his glasses being torn away from his face, and opened his eyes just in time to see a pale fist sailing towards his head. Quick as he could, he jerked his head to the side. He pressed his cheek into the bark of the tree as he felt Malfoy’s fist brush against his ear, and cringed as it collided with the tree trunk.

As satisfying as Malfoy’s cry of pain was, it still didn’t stop the pain in Harry’s stomach that was causing him to take short, sharp breaths.

Strong, clammy hands grabbed Harry’s cheeks and forced his head forward, his neck clicking painfully as they did so.

Malfoy, clutching his hand, glared at Harry. “Potter! You’ve broken my hand! Just you wait till my father hears about –”

“I’m sure, Mr Malfoy, when your father hears about your actions, he will be most displeased. Now, unhand Harry this instant and do exactly as I say."


	11. "Please, Mr Potter, do not fall asleep there."

It was dinnertime at Hogwarts castle, or more accurately, pudding time; a time when students and staff alike could finally take the time to relax, wind down, and recall the past day.

Hufflepuffs joked merrily with their friends, laughing loudly and serving themselves extra bowls of pudding. Ravenclaws talked eagerly of lessons, quizzing themselves and their friends, and occasionally remembering to take a mouthful of treacle tart or ice cream. The Slytherins sneered over their bowls, watching with disgust as the Gryffindors chatted and told thrilling tales to anyone who would listen.

The staff table was equally as interesting, with Headmaster Dumbledore popping strawberries into his mouth every-so-often, Professor McGonagall daintily sipping from her silver goblet, and a certain two, unlikely Professors, chatting almost casually to each other.

These two Professors took a moment from their conversation as the silvery haired, purple eyed man turned to gaze around the Hall, clearly searching for something; or more importantly, some _one._

At the Gryffindor table, a small, 14 year old boy with jet-black hair and bright green eyes sat alone, head down, attention focused solely on a rather large bowl of pudding. A faded bruise could be seen above the child’s eye, and the boy seemed to hold himself almost tentatively, as though afraid of hurting or jostling something.

The teenager looked lost without his usual motley crew. No tuft of bright red hair, no bushy brown mess, just one, raven-haired boy with a pudding to keep him company.

Harry looked up from his bowl as he heard a voice call his name. After a few seconds of searching, a surreptitiously waving Ferro came into view. Harry put down his spoon and gave an experimental wave back, not too sure if he should or not. Ferro then gave a small nod, followed by a questionable thumbs up. Harry, a little confused, pulled his eyebrows together and stared at his teacher. At Harry’s expression, Ferro began to mouth something that looked like, “you still feeling ok?”

Harry, finally understanding his teacher’s silent exchange, nodded back and gave a returning thumbs up, followed by a slightly embarrassed smile. Ferro looked relieved as he smiled and turned back to Professor Snape, who, to Harry’s horror, was watching them both, one eyebrow raised, a look of faint amusement playing across his usually emotionless face.

Harry rubbed his head sub-consciously as he returned to his pudding, and was pleased to note his bruise no longer hurt – if it was even still there at all.

Picking up his slightly sticky spoon, he continued to fight with his never-ending dessert, beginning to regret cutting himself such a big slice of Victoria Sponge, and of course, he’d needed a generous amount of custard too.

This was, by far, the most depressing and lonely dinners Harry had ever had to endure since his time at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be found, and for some reason unbeknownst to Harry, people were also avoiding him, even members of his own house.

Harry heaved a sigh and pushed his unfinished pudding away, his spoon clattering to the table as it fell out of the bowl. He gently rubbed a hand across his stomach, only wincing slightly as it made contact with the previously bruised muscle.

He was just thinking about getting up to search for his friends when he felt a sharp blow from behind, right between his shoulder blades, causing him to gasp and shout out in fright.

“Ron! I thought when you asked to borrow my book you’d want to _read_ it, not beat your best friend with it! Give it here!”

Another blow from behind.

“No!”

Harry slammed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together, readying himself for the third blow.

“We’ve been looking for him all day, and the bugger’s been sat in here, stuffing his face with cake! What do you expect me to do?”

Braced for the blow, Harry was instead greeted by a snarling, dangerously angry voice.

“I expect you to drop that book, Weasley, and get out of my sight. And take Granger with you,” growled Snape, who’d come to stand protectively in front of Harry – much to Harry’s astonishment.

“Why should I? He’s the one who –”

“Let’s go, Mr Weasley,” came Ferro’s much calmer voice. “You too, Miss Granger.”

“But, sir –”

“No, Hermione; outside.” The force behind Ferro’s usual relaxed tone was enough to move a very stubborn Hermione, soon followed by a thoroughly angry Ron.

Harry gulped as Snape slowly turned to face him.

“It’s time for your detention, Mr Potter. Meet me in my office.” Snape’s words sunk into the silence that had settled across the Great Hall. Every head was turned to face Harry and his Professor. Snape didn’t take any notice as he strode purposefully down the length of the hall and disappeared through the double doors, glaring at anyone who dared to stare at him.

Harry stood up quickly, ignoring the stares and the buzz that was slowly running through the mass of students. He made his way down to Snape’s office, mind racing and back aching. He knocked on the solid, wooden door twice and waited in silence, every breath echoing through his head.

“Enter,” commanded Snape, a few seconds later.

Harry pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

“Take a seat, Mr Potter,” ordered Snape, not looking up from the mass of papers piled across his desk.

Harry sat opposite his Professor, fidgeting with his hands in his lap nervously. Snape seemed annoyed, _really_ annoyed, and Harry wasn’t in the mood to face Snape like this, not when his stomach was beginning to ache so badly.

“What happened, Mr Potter?” asked Snape suddenly.

“Sir?” asked Harry, watching as his Professor cleared his desk of the mess of parchment then turned to gaze at him.

“Why was Weasley so angry? Why had they been ‘looking for you’ _all_ day?” Snape cocked an eyebrow as he continued his relentless stare.

“Oh,” sighed Harry, shifting slightly in his seat. “There was an … incident today,” explained Harry, trying to be as vague as possible.

“Indeed,” drawled Snape. “Explain the incident.”

Harry cursed Snape under his breath; he would have a field day when he found out the details of Harry’s ‘incident.’

“Well, I, uh,” stalled Harry, trying to come up with a believable cover story.

“Why don’t you explain what happened after Mr Malfoy attacked you?” Prompted Snape, sounding almost bored and slightly amused.

Harry, stunned momentarily into silence, gaped openly at his Professor.

“You know about Malfoy?” Snape knew? How did he know?

“Yes, now continue,” said Snape, forcefully.

Harry gulped yet again, but started his story.

“Uh, Malfoy attacked me, like you said, then he broke his hand against the tree. He was just about to do something when Professor Ferro appeared and stopped him.” Harry paused, feeling again the relief he’d felt when Ferro had appeared. Harry had never seen Ferro look so … menacing. It had been impressively scary; inky, purple eyes, flashing dangerously in the dying sunlight. Long, silvery hair flying in the wind, dancing through the air like flames. Harry had caught a glimpse of the tiger he knew Ferro to be, in that one moment Harry had seen the similarities.

“Perfect,” snarled Snape. “Exactly what I wanted to hear,” voice dripping with sarcasm, Snape’s voice put Harry on edge.

“Sir?” asked Harry again, slightly confused. “You already knew about Malfoy, so why do you sound so,” Harry searched for a word that wasn’t ‘annoyed’ or ‘hacked-off’, “so surprised?” Harry decided that would do for now.

Snape sat there, still as a statue, continuing to stare at Harry. Had the man even blinked?

“Sir?” Harry tried again with a little more force. “You know what happed, so why are you being so –”

“Because I refuse to believe it happened,” grimaced Snape, a slight look of disgust creeping across his sallow face. “I refuse to believe that one of my own Slytherins would be cowardly enough to restrain and attack an unarmed student.” Snape stared dangerously at Harry.

Harry stared back, transfixed by the anger sparking in those, deep, black eyes. _Of course_ , thought Harry suddenly; Malfoy wasn’t going to be punished! How foolish had Harry been to think that Snape, of all people, would believe his side of the story? Snape would turn a blind eye; possibly even deduct a few points from Gryffindor for Harry’s foolish behaviour.

“Oh, well then…” was all Harry could manage. He gazed somewhere behind Snape’s left shoulder, and grimaced as three familiar cockroaches scuttled into view.

“What’s wrong? You looked pained,” asked Snape, sounding mildly interested.

“Nothing,” replied Harry, automatically.

“Very well, continue with your story.” Snape brought one of his spidery hands up to rest under his chin, the overall effect making him look much more thoughtful.

“Continue, sir?” Had Harry heard right? Snape actually believed his story? He wanted to hear more?

“Yes, Potter, it means carry on, keep going, _continue_ with your story.”

Harry frowned at Snape’s sarcasm, but carried on with his account. “Professor Ferro took us both up to the hospital wing and told Crabbe and Goyle to go wait outside his office. Madam Pomfrey fixed us up pretty quick, but then I had to stay and explain what had happened.” _Sort of like what I’m doing now,_ Harry thought to himself.

“And what was there to ‘fix up’, as you so aptly put it.” Snape leaned forward slightly as he spoke, causing Harry to tense a little.

“Oh, just a few bruises, nothing serious.” Harry didn’t really want to discuss his injuries with a Professor – Ferro, maybe, but Snape? No way.

“Indeed,” said Snape, absently. “And how is your stomach now? Has the bruising gone down?”

“My stomach?” questioned Harry for the second time that night. “How do you keep knowing what –”

“Mr Potter,” ordered Snape.

Harry shot a sceptical look at his Professor as he rubbed his hand gently over his stomach. The skin still felt tender and there was a dull ache emanating from somewhere that Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint. Overall, he’d felt a lot better.

“It’s been better,” shrugged Harry. “I’ll go see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow,” he decided, rubbing his forehead without thinking.

“There is no need to go to Madam Pomfrey,” said Snape, standing up and crossing the room in three long strides. Harry watched with interest and suspicion as Snape began to rummage through an old looking Potions cabinet. “Does your forehead hurt too?” came Snape’s voice from the depths of the cabinet.

“Uh, no, that’s fine thanks,” replied Harry, smirking slightly as the memory of explaining _that one_ to Ferro floated to mind.

“Stop smirking and return to the real world, Potter.” Snape’s voice came from somewhere above Harry’s head, and Harry jumped a little as a pot of brown, clay-like substance was shoved into his hand. Harry took it and pocketed it.

“Rub that onto your stomach, head, and also your shins, just before you go to bed; the bruising should disappear by Monday.” Snape retook his seat, pulled out some parchment that contained Harry’s handwriting, and placed it in front of Harry, along with a quill and a pot of ink. “Continue with your detention, in silence.”

Harry gazed as Snape began his marking again. _Shins_. The man had known about his _shins,_ and yet Harry was _sure_ he hadn’t mentioned Malfoy kicking them.

“How did you –”

“Silence, Potter.” Snape didn’t even bother looking up from his work, so Harry grabbed the quill, dipped it a little violently into the ink pot, and continued with the never ending list of lines.

An hour later, however, Harry snapped.

“Do those things have to be in here?” he cried, jabbing a finger at the infuriating, nauseating cockroaches.

“Why, do they bother you?” Snape’s voice implied that he couldn’t care less.

“Yes!”  
“Well then, why didn’t you say?” With a smooth, swish of his wand, Snape vanished the cockroaches and the room was left blissfully quiet, devoid of the hideous scuttling and squeaking coming from the grubby glass tank.

Harry sighed with relief as he picked up his quill again. “Thanks, sir. How can you stand them?”

Snape looked at Harry thoughtfully. “As I mentioned before, they’re not mine, they’re a friends.”

“Well, when’s your friend coming to collect them?” muttered Harry darkly as he began another line.

“Oh, he doesn’t know I’ve got them,” replied Snape casually. “I shall give them back eventually though.”

Deciding to leave Snape, his ‘friend’, and the cockroaches to it, Harry started yet another line, vowing to himself to never get another detention again.

After another hour and a half, Harry dotted his final sentence and let his head fall to the desk in relief and exhaustion, not caring about what Snape would say, just glad to be rid of those nonsense lines.

“Please, Mr Potter, do not fall asleep there. I think it would be best for everyone if you were to return to your common room.” Snape’s voice sounded a little tired too, and Harry had to wonder what time it was.

“I can leave?” asked Harry hopefully.

“You were free to leave half an hour ago, but you were working so well for once, I was loathed to stop you,” smirked Snape as he began to search through one of his desk drawers.

Harry scowled as he stood up, popping his limbs as he did so, always savouring the feeling it brought.

He had just reached the door when he heard Snape call him back. Resisting the urge to whine and groan, Harry turned back reluctantly and walked to his Professors desk.

Snape had what appeared to be an old bit of parchment in one hand, and a folded piece of material in the other.

“You had these on your possession the night you were found by the lake,” said Snape, sounding almost awkward. “I have no reason to keep them any longer, even if the well being of this school would be better off if these items were destroyed.” Snape grimaced slightly as he handed the items over to Harry.

Harry grinned as he accepted his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map.

“Thanks sir!” Harry chimed, clutching the precious items to his chest.

“Get to bed,” was Snapes gracious reply, “it’s after curfew.”

Harry obeyed and headed back for the door, but just before he left, he turned to his Professor and asked, “Sir, how did you know about Malfoy, and my stomach, and everything else?” Harry couldn’t understand how Snape had been so well informed.

“What do you think Professor Ferro and myself talk about at dinner, Mr Potter, the weather? Now, get to bed.”

“Professor Ferro told you?” asked Harry, stunned. “Then why did you ask me all those questions, if you knew the story all along?”

“I wanted to hear your account of what had happened, so I asked for your side of the story. _Goodbye,_ Mr Potter.”

Harry was forced to step back quickly as Snape’s office door swung shut in his face.

Harry smiled to himself as he donned the invisibility cloak. Turning to leave, he muttered a faint, “goodnight, Professor,” under his breath.

As Severus Snape picked up yet another dismal essay, he stopped for a moment to mutter a quick, “ _goodnight_ , Mr Potter,” before continuing on with the never ending pile of work that took him late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Any comments would be greatly appreciated, hope you're enjoying it!


	12. "That little git!"

“Oh, Harry, Professor Ferro told us everything –”

“Yeah, mate. Look, I’m really sorry, you should’ve said –”

“Well, you didn’t give him a chance, Ron! How could he have said –”

“It’s not my fault! I was hungry, I wasn’t right in the head –”

“You’re _never_ right in the head –”

“Sorry guys, has anyone seen Trevor?”

“No, sorry Neville,” answered Harry as his friends continued to bicker.

“Oh, ok,” sighed Neville, looking downtrodden. “Thanks anyway. See you, Harry.”

Harry waved Neville off and turned back to his friends.

“Oh, please Ron, you _never_ listen to _anyone –”_

“What do you mean I ‘never listen’? Who do you think I am –”

“You’re not listening now! You just –”

“Well!” sighed Harry, loudly, trying and failing to get his friends’ attention.

“Oh, yeah, Hermione. I bet you just think everybody should be a goody goody two shoes like you –”

“Ron! That is not what I’m saying at _all_ –”

“Night guys!” shouted Harry, waving his hands wildly, trying to catch their attention.

“Night, Harry!” chorused the twins, waving back at him.

“Very funny,” muttered Harry as he walked past them and up to the dormitory. He sat down on his bed and took a deep breath in, savouring the peace and quiet. He’d just started to take his shoes off when the door burst open.

“Oh, Hermione! Will you just _shut_ –”

“Me?! You’re the one who’s shouting and making a complete –”

“Oh yeah, straight to the insulting! That is just like you –”

“You two are like an old married couple!” Harry tried to cut in, but ended up speaking to himself.

He sat there as his friends continued to throw insults, trying to think of an effective solution. It was when Ron was creative enough to use the words ‘slimy’ and ‘bat’ that Harry thought of something – something truly … _Slytherin_ of him – literally!

Grinning wickedly, Harry stood up on his bed and looked down at his friends. He put his hands on his hips, sucked in a deep breath, and pictured, in his mind, their very own Potions Master. Feeling very evil, he bellowed, “Weasley! Granger! Desist at once!”

“Professor! We –”

“Bloody hell! How –”

Harry fell to the bed, clutching at his stomach, tears streaming down his face as he guffawed at his friends.

Ron and Hermione were franticly searching the room, obviously waiting for Snape to loom out of the shadows.

“I – I wish,” wheezed Harry between fits of laughter. “I wish you could see – see your faces!” He rolled onto his stomach and buried his head into his pillow, trying to muffle his laughter.

“That was you?!” The mixture of astonishment and anger in Ron’s voice only caused Harry to laugh even harder. “Harry! You little –”

“Harry Potter! You complete and utter _arse!”_ cried Hermione, throwing herself at him and clamping her hands around the back of his neck. He began to struggle a little, to weak from laughing to do anything other than squirm.

“No! Please! Hermione! That tickles!”

It went silent for a moment, and Harry was able to let out a few hysterical squeaks, but then he realised his mistake a moment too late.

Strong hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him over the edge of the bed. He tried to hold onto something but his arms just flailed uselessly as he fell. He hit the floor with a muffled thud and tried to stand up. A second pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and roughly rolled him onto his back. He looked up through his tears into the two evil grins of his best friends.

“Ok, wait just a minute –” he tried to plead, but his voice was cut off by the screams of laughter that escaped his grinning lips as his friends began to tickle every part of him they could.

Their laughter filled the room and travelled downstairs. It reached a smirking Fred and George, who looked at each other and winked, a confused looking Dean and Seamus, who looked up from their late night chess game just in time to miss Seamus’ queen violently pulverising Dean’s bishop, and a strained looking Neville, who was groping around one of the leather sofas, desperately trying to capture his mischievous toad – Trevor.

“Please!” begged Harry, his stomach aching from laughing so much. “Please! Stop!”

He felt their hands retract and heard their bodies thumping down beside him.

Hermione was giggling hysterically and Ron was snorting every now and then.

“Never,” gasped Harry, “do that again!”

“As long as you – you never do that voice again! You almost gave me a heart attack!” scolded Ron, breathing deeply to ease his laughter.

“It was uncanny, Harry,” agreed Hermione as she pushed herself up to rest against the foot of Harry’s bed.

Harry pushed himself up into a standing position and perched on the edge of his bed. “Hey, it could come in handy,” reasoned Harry.

“When?!” asked Ron, as he, too, lifted himself off the floor. “When would you _ever_ want to imitate that slime covered, hook nosed, grease-ball of a git?

“Professor, Ron!” Insisted Hermione. “He’s a slime covered, hook nosed, grease-ball of a _Professor!”_ Hermione grinned as the other two gaped at her.

“Hermione? You feeling alright?” Ron put on a look of mock concern, and Harry began checking her temperature with the back of his hand.

“She feels a bit –”

“Yes, Ron, I’m fine, thank you very much!” All three of them grinned at each other and Hermione walked over to the door, heading for her own dormitory. “And, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Goodnight!” She shut the door as Harry and Ron muttered sarcastically.

No sooner had they got their shoes off did the door open again, announcing the arrival of Dean, Seamus, and a tired looking Neville, who was clutching his wriggling breast pocket.

“What the bleedin’ hell was going on in here?” questioned Seamus, crossing over to his own bed.

“Oh, Harry’s really ticklish,” grinned Ron. Harry nodded sheepishly at his friends, realising again – a moment to late – his mistake. He took a tentative step backwards, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t. _They wouldn’t, would they?_

_They would!_

All too soon they were a laughing pile of flailing limbs, all of them too intent on fighting for their freedom as well as trying to cause as much havoc as possible to notice anything unusual. So it was no surprise when they failed to notice the thick fog that had gathered outside, or the dense black, glowing figure floating at the window, smiling at the scene taking place before it’s icy blue eyes.

 

Harry stumbled alone through the forest. He’d been here many times before, always in his dreams. He kept moving forward, praying that this was not the same dream that had plagued his mind for many nights now. Why couldn’t he wake up?

He pinched his arm gently, to afraid to cause himself any real pain. It was useless. He let out a frustrated sigh and kicked out with his right foot at one of the trees. He howled in pain as his big toe clicked out of place and pain shot through his foot. Eyes watering, he hopped on the spot, cursing himself for his stupidity, and also the fact that he was still in the dream.

“C’mon!” yelled Harry. “I know this is a dream! Let me wake up!”

“A dream, Potter? Are you really that naïve?”

Harry spun around as the cold voice filled his ears. He stared into the dead, red eyes of what had once been Lord Voldermort. The sickly creature was curled up on its throne. Harry felt his stomach clench.

“We really must stop meeting in this way, Potter,” taunted Voldemort. Harry noticed Voldemort’s fingers clench around the small, twinkling object he had been holding. Harry cursed himself again – every time he’d come face to face with Voldemort in his dreams, he had been holding that thing, and every time Harry forgot to look at what it was.

“What is that?” Harry blurted out, his tongue loose due to the shooting pains in his foot.

“Oh? That doesn’t matter now, Potter,” Voldemort’s cruel smile managed to show all of his yellowing teeth. “You are here now, and there is no one here to save you. Goodbye, Harry Potter!” Harry watched as Voldemort raised his wand, watched the green light gather at the tip.

“No! What is that?” Harry cried, his legs going weak as he crashed to the floor. “What is that? What is that?” He moaned as a bright light began to flood his eyes.

He was going to die.

He was going to die with a broken toe at the weakened hands of Lord Voldemort – what a pathetic way to go.

“Please,” he begged. He heard Voldemort’s high, cold laughter ringing through the forest. “No! What is that?!”

“Harry!” Harry shot up and felt his covers fly off him. Ron was standing at the end of his bed, a look of confusion dancing across his freckled face. “It’s a shoe, you nutcase! What else would it be?”

“A – a shoe?” mumbled Harry, reaching for his glasses.

“Yeah,” nodded Ron, holding up his battered trainer. “I’m here, trying to get dressed, and you’re over there screaming ‘what is that, what is that?’ People would think you’d gone mental!”

Harry felt his face grow hot and he slumped back onto his pillow, running his hands over his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Bad dream.” _Very bad dream,_ he corrected.

“Oh, you were dreaming? I thought you were just having a joke! Sorry mate! I’d have woken you up if I’d known. What were you dreaming about?” Ron hopped on the spot as he attempted to put his shoe on.

“Nothing,” replied Harry, a little too quickly. At Ron’s raised eyebrows, he added, “sorry, don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ok,” shrugged Ron, as he bent down to do up his laces.

“What time is it, anyway?” asked Harry, stretching and stifling a yawn.

“Half nine,” grinned Ron. “Not as late as yesterday, eh?”

Harry grinned back and made his way to the bathroom. He bent over one of the golden sinks and splashed some water over his flushed face.

“Where’re Seamus, Dean and Neville?” called Harry as he pressed a towel to his face.

“Breakfast,” called Ron. “It was weird, actually. I asked if they wanted to go down to breakfast together, and they said yeah, but then when I said I’d just have to wake you up they all made these weird excuses and left in a hurry.”

Harry, who had been brushing his teeth, spat into the sink and looked up at his confused reflection. “They left?” he asked, emerging from the bathroom.

“Yeah, really weird,” muttered Ron. “C’mon, get changed,” he grinned. “I’m starving!”

“When are you not?” joked Harry. A few minutes later he was changed and pulling on his shoes. After doing up the left one, he grabbed the right and slipped his foot into it. The moment his big toe touched the end he let out a howl of pain and pulled his foot out, awkwardly cradling it in his hands.

“Who? What? Where?!” yelled Ron, grabbing his wand and waving it dangerously.

“Don’t worry,” groaned Harry, pulling his sock off to inspect his throbbing toe. “And you’re holding your wand the wrong way round.”

“What? Oh,” Ron looked down at his wand and stuffed it into his back pocket. “What’s wrong?”

“I dunno,” shrugged Harry. His toe looked perfectly fine. He poked it with his finger and yelped, regretting his action completely.

“What?” asked Ron again, sitting beside Harry.

“It’s my toe,” grimaced Harry. “It kills but there’s nothing –” Harry stopped mid-sentence and watched with a mixture of amazement and disgust as his toe went from a rosy pink to a blackish blue mess with the nail cracked halfway down the middle.

“What the –”

“Wicked!” exclaimed Ron.

“Excuse me?” cried Harry, staring at Ron.

“Oh sorry mate, not your toe – that’s disgusting!” Ron grimaced, “but I think you were using a glamour!”

“I was using a what?”

“Dad talks about them all the time! If a wizard’s been injured but they don’t want to show it, they can use glamours to cover it up! But I’ve heard it takes a lot of effort to keep one up yourself. Fred broke George’s nose once, and he tried to cast a glamour, but passed out about five minutes after casting it. Broke his nose too when he fell – mum was really annoyed, thought they’d been fighting.” Ron looked questioningly at Harry. “How did you do it?”

“What, break my toe? I don’t –” Harry’s dream flooded into his head and he almost cried out in shock. He must have gone pale, because his friend then asked, “you ok, mate?”

“Uh, yeah… It’s just, in my dream I broke my toe by kicking a tree, and now my toe’s broken in real life. Does that mean –”

“That’s happened to me!” Ron exclaimed.

“Really?” Relief flooded through Harry.

“Oh yeah! I once had this dream that I fell off my broomstick and cracked my head, then when I woke up my head was throbbing and I had this huge cut right across my forehead! I didn’t own a broom at the time or anything - it was really weird… Anyway, ready for breakfast?”

“What?” cried Harry. “How can I walk down to breakfast when I can’t even put my shoe on?”

“Oh, Harry, it’ll be fine! Just put your sock back on and I’ll help you!” At Harry’s uncertain gaze, Ron added, “c’mon, you really think people will notice you haven’t got a shoe on when idiots like Crabbe and Goyle have lasted four years in this castle, and it’s a miracle they manage to dress themselves every morning! C’mon! You’ll be fine!

 

“Still think this is fine?” grumbled Harry as he walked into the Great Hall, only to be met by frantic muttering and short outbursts of laughter.

“Well, it could be worse. Somehow?” Ron looked at him apologetically as they made their way to the Gryffindor table and the chatter of the Great Hall started up again.

Harry spotted Hermione just as he heard one of the Slytherins call, “I always knew Potter was mad!”

“C’mon,” he growled at Ron, and he limped as fast as he could towards the space next to Hermione. The minute they both sat down, their fellow Gryffindors shifted slightly, as though trying to move away from Harry.

“What’s wrong with them?” he muttered, reaching for some toast.

“Harry, you do know you’ve only got one shoe on, don’t you?”

“Oh, gee Hermione, you’re right! How on _earth_ did I manage that? I guess I must have –”

“Alright, alright! Point made, _Mr Sarcastic._ I just wanted to check!”

“Sorry,” mumbled Harry, pulling his foot up. “I broke my toe. Can you fix it?”

“You broke your – oh, Harry!” she cried, as he showed her the bruised mess. “How did you do it? Are you –”

“I’m fine, thanks Hermione, and I don’t know how I did it,” he lied, blocking out the dream. “Can you fix it?”

“Oh, of course!” She dropped her spoon and dived into her bag, emerging with her wand. “Now, I’ve read all about simple fixes, but then, there are the more severe ones. Would you say this is simple? There’s quite a bit of swelling, but I suppose it’s only one bone – but it’s quite a thick bone, there’s always –”

“Oh, Hermione! Just fix the poor blokes toe!” cried Ron, spraying the table with flecks of scrambled egg.

“Humph, how rude!” shot Hermione. She tapped Harry’s toe with her wand a little too forcefully, causing him to jump. He then let out a little yelp, which turned a few heads, as his toe clicked back into place. He felt an intense heat as the blood rushed back to it and he touched it tentatively. Aside from the bruising, the pain was thankfully gone.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he sighed in relief.

“That’s quite alright, _Harry,”_ she huffed, glaring at Ron, who was oblivious to the death stare he was receiving.

Ten minutes later, when they had all finished their breakfast, Oliver Wood approached Harry somewhat nervously.

“Harry,” he nodded politely.

“Heya Wood,” Harry grinned. “This can only mean one thing, right? Quidditch?”

“Uh, yeah,” gulped Wood. “Still up for playing, then?”

“Of course!” replied Harry, surprised. “I’m still on the team, aren’t I?”

“Oh, yeah, of course! Well, see you in ten, then.” Wood hurried off and disappeared into the small crowd of students exiting the Hall.

“What was that about?” questioned Harry, as the three of them made their way out of the Hall. “And why are people avoiding me?” Harry looked around in confusion at the small berth people were giving him. “It’s like I’m the heir of Slytherin again!”

“Harry!”

“What? It’s true!”

“Oh, I have something to tell you,” Hermione muttered as she pulled him to the side. Ron followed them and listened intently.

“Hold on, Hermione,” Harry held up a hand to stop her. “Accio Qudditch Kit!” He jabbed his wand into the air, pleased to finally have a use for the new spell Ferro had been teaching them. “What is it, Hermione?”

“Well, Harry, people have been saying… No, some people have been talking about… No, I’ve heard people going on about –”

“What, Hermione?” prompted Harry, a little impatiently.

“Oh, Harry, people have been saying you’ve gone a little bit mad!” she finished in a whisper.

“They what?!” blurted out Harry, while Ron began to laugh.

“Mr Potter! I see no reason at all as to why you should have reason to shout. Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting the peace of the castle.” Snape slithered over to glare at the three of them.

“I’m sorry, _Professor,_ ” replied Harry. “I didn’t realise talking was prohibited,” his voice dripped with mock politeness.

“Talking isn’t, _Mr Potter,_ ” retaliated Snape, taking a menacing step forwards, causing Harry to stumble backwards slightly. “You just seem to think that you, the Chosen One, the –”

“Professor –” Harry tried to interrupt.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me. Ten more points from Gryffindor. You’re just like your father! You –”

“No, Professor –” Harry insisted.

“One more word out of you and you will find yourself scrubbing –”

“Professor!” The three of them yelled, but too late.

Harry’s Firebolt, Quidditch bag and his shoe all collided with the back of Snape’s head. He shot forward from the force of the spell – Harry still wasn’t able to control it very well yet – and Harry dodged out of the way. Hermione simply stared in shock, and Ron had shoved his fist into his mouth in an attempt to muffle his laughter.

Snape looked up, rubbing the back of his head, and locked eyes with Harry. Harry gulped.

“Why you little –”

“Severus!” A voice called from the Great Hall. Harry sighed in relief as Professor Ferro came into view, a grin on his face and his purple eyes sparkling. “They did try to warn you!” He winked at them and mouthed, “run!”

Taking the hint, Harry collected his things and called out a quick, “bye, Professors!” The three of them sprinted outside and halfway down the lawn before they dared stop.

“I love that man!” exclaimed Ron, causing Hermione to giggle.

“So does Hermione, if you get my meaning,” winked Harry, nudging Ron in a knowing way.

“Oh yeah, I get you!” Ron winked back as Hermione turned a violent shade of pink.

“Oh, shut up, both of you! At least people don’t think _I’m_ mad!”

“Oh yeah! What’s _that_ all about?” questioned Harry, some of his excitement dying away as he remembered what Hermione had said.

“Oh, it’s just something Malfoy’s been spreading around,” answered Hermione, relived by the change of subject, though her cheeks still glowed pink.

“Malfoy?” cried Ron.

“That little git!” responded Harry. “That slimy, snot-nosed, snivelling little –”

“Run!” yelled Ron.

“What –”

“Harry, if you want to live past the age of 14, I suggest you run. Now!”

“Ron! What do you –” Harry didn’t finish his sentence, for he saw Snape stalking towards them, followed by a protesting Ferro, and a look of utter loathing on his pale face. The minute he saw Harry he broke into a sort of jog that made Harry fear for his life.

“Uh, sorry guys! I have to go! Don’t want to be late!” He called over his shoulder as he ran for his life – _literally,_ he thought, darkly. He heard Ron and Hermione’s shouts in the distance and laughed to himself. Here he was, running – with one shoe missing – from his teacher, while his best friends tried to hold him off, his toe was bruised from a strange dream he’d had involving the so-called dead Lord Voldemort, and the whole school thought he was barking mad! Perhaps he was! All that mattered was that he’d be in the air soon, flying with his team members, and while he was at it, he could think up all the evil ways he could get back at that little blonde rat, Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story, thank you so much for reading :)


	13. "Much less of the prancing, if you please."

The weeks went by in a gray, misty blur for Harry. Every morning he was greeted by the sound of icy rain trying to batter it’s way into their dormitory. He’d spend the days getting drenched in Care of Magical Creatures lessons, predicting his death every ten minutes in Divination – surely there was only so many times one could be crushed to death by a giant centaur head? In Harry’s case, apparently not. Transfiguration left him with his fingers bleeding; as his pincushion had developed an effective defence mechanism of firing it’s pins at anyone who attempted to pick it up. He’d been bitten by a small, yellow flower in Herbology that vaguely resembled a buttercup, resulting in each of his fingers swelling and turning a different colour. Ron had found Harry’s predicament hilarious until the flower had jumped and clamped its jaws around Ron’s long nose – Ron had walked around for hours with a bright green addition to his pale face, and was the punch line in many of Fred and Georges jokes for days afterwards. Potions, of course, was unbearable; Harry and Ron didn’t care much for the pickled bats spleens they’d been using, but they apparently meant a great deal to Snape, so throwing them at Malfoy had resulted in a weeks worth of detentions (and a very slimy Malfoy, much to Harry’s delight.)

But, unfortunately, this was not the only detention Harry found himself in – September had been a very productive month for Harry. His ‘Quidditch Stunt’ as people had apparently called it – Harry simply saw it as the moment he’d hit Snape with his broomstick and had literally had to run for his life – had ended with 15 long minutes of shouting from Snape, and yet another weeks worth of detentions. There had also been their attempt to get back at Malfoy’s ‘mad’ story, and that had involved a tricky little charm cast by Hermione that meant everything would repel from him – it had been hilarious until poor Professor Flitwick was blasted across the classroom – that one had lost them 30 house points, but thankfully, no detention.

But the worst bit was that Harry’s latest stunt had resulted in a full months worth of detentions with Snape, which he was currently more than half the way through.

It had been a normal, Saturday evening, and Harry had been at Quidditch practice all day. He’d missed dinner, much to his dismay, as he’d been in the shower for hours scrubbing furiously at the many layers of mud that caked his body. Being a growing, teenage boy, he was of course hungry, and so had made the decision to sneak out at nine o’clock under the protection of his invisibility cloak and the marauders map. He’d head towards the kitchens knowing that Dobby would be more than happy to fix him up with a delicious, mouth-watering sandwich that would hit the spot perfectly. Of course, that didn’t happen. Harry had been so occupied with a mysterious dot on the map that was simply labelled _”?”_ he’d failed to notice he was heading straight toward the quick moving dot of _”Severus Snape”._ They collided with impressive force, Harry crying out in fright and Snape yelping in pain. Harry had struggled to no avail as Snape practically dragged him down to the dungeons, and that was how Harry came to be sat there now. Sunday, October 20th, 1 o’clock in the morning.

Harry’s head drooped forward as he daydreamed about September. His tired body flopped forward and he began to snore loudly, his chin knocking against his chest and his mouth hanging open.

He’d had three long hours of Quidditch practice, followed by an eternity of wrestling salamanders into their cages for Hagrid – Ron had several burns to prove it. Every night for 21 nights he’d sat in Snape’s office till two in the morning, but the worst part was that he did just that. For five hours Harry had to sit there, staring at the wall, because his “interest in pointless night time wanderings” needed to be put to an end. In Harry’s opinion, Snape’s obsessive interest in pathetic, late night punishments should be put to an end.

Harry snorted in his sleep and woke with a start. He glanced at the clock – half an hour to go. He heard the creak of a floorboard and shifted in his chair slightly. He had the strangest feeling that someone had just run their hands down his back and squeezed at his ribcage. He turned around cautiously but saw nothing. He was tired, and he was imagining things, that was all it was. His eyes drooped again and he fell into a restless slumber. A white tiger pounced on him as he ran the halls of the dungeons – twenty minutes to go. Snape was pouring him into a bubbling potion – ten minutes. Voldemort’s eyes growing out of the darkness, his high cold laugh ringing inside Harry’s skull as Harry was sucked into nothingness – “Potter!”

“It wa’nt me!” yelled Harry as his head flew back, his neck cracking loudly.

“Get out of my sight. Same time tomorrow and don’t you dare fall asleep again!” Snape jabbed a long fingered hand towards the wooden door and Harry watched it swim before his eyes. _”I was sleeping?”_ thought Harry groggily as he rose obediently, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. He stumbled slowly through the castle, up to the Gryffindor common room.

These late nights were draining him, leaving him unfocused in lessons and un-coordinated out on the quidditch pitch, which was just what Snape wanted. The first match of the season was fast approaching – Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. And Harry wasn’t about to let a bunch of slimy snakes take the lead this early on, no matter how hard Snape tried.

“Yes, dear?”

“Huh – what?”

“The password, dear,” yawned a sleepy Fat Lady.

“Oh, uh, Nitwit,” slurred Harry, as the portrait swung forward, allowing him entrance into the warm common room. As he clambered through he heard a voice echo the words, “you really should talk to Professor Dumbledore, dear, all these late nights can’t be allowed.”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks,” yawned Harry as he pushed away the fog circling his brain – who was he speaking to again?

He emerged into the darkened common room and felt the floor tilt slightly under his feet. “That’s weird,” mumbled Harry. “Wobbly floor…” A few glowing coals from the fire danced in front of his eyes, tracing orange lines all over the walls and floor. “Just five minutes,” muttered Harry as he clambered onto the feathery sofa. “Five minutes then I’ll go up to bed.” He was asleep before his head even hit the cushion.

Flashing. Lots of flashing. And a strange clicking. Rain? ” _A thunderstorm!”_ thought Harry; he loved thunderstorms. He opened his eyes, ready to rush to their dormitory window.

“Morning Harry!” came a high, childlike voice followed by another flash and a click. Harry groaned.

“Morning, Colin.”

Colin squealed in delight. “What are you doing there, Harry? Shouldn’t you be at quidditch?”

“What – what do you mean?” Harry’s brain felt foggy. “What time is it?”

“2 o’clock, well only just, what time does –”

“What?!” Harry shot up from the sofa and hurtled past Colin, through the portrait hole, and into a crown of sniggering Slytherins.

“Watch it, Potter,” snarled Malfoy. “You’d better start being careful – you’re mine now.”

Harry ignored him and his cronies and continued his sprint down to the entrance hall, causing people and animals to jump out of the way in fright. He hurried outside, sprinting down to the quidditch pitch – Wood was going to kill him, he was three hours late for practice.

“Mr Potter!”

“Not now!” yelled Harry.

“Mr Potter, stop!” A hand materialised out of nowhere and clamped itself around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him to a stop.

“Get off me!”

“Mr Potter!” yelled Snape, tightening his grip on Harry’s shoulder.

“No!” yelled Harry. “This is all your fault! You’ve made me late – it’s what you want!”

“Potter!” yelled Snape again. He locked eyes with Harry and Harry recoiled in fear and confusion as they turned from a dull black to a vivid, icy blue. Snape’s whole body began to change until it was the whispering man who stood clutching Harry’s shoulder with his icy hand.

“Run, Harry. Run!”

Harry did as he was told. He turned away from the ghostly figure and ran into the forbidden forest, not caring that this probably put him in even more danger. Ghostly figures of Ron and Hermione appeared out of the darkness, warning Harry to turn back, wailing and howling when he refused to listen.

“But I’ve got to run!” cried Harry as he stumbled even further into the darkness. A giant white tiger appeared to his left, glowing brightly in the darkness, it bounded past him and he followed its light; he knew that tiger, that tiger would lead him to safety. He emerged into a clearing and cried out in horror as a short, plump man grabbed him, clamping his arms to his side.

“Good, Wormtail. Bring him to me,” commanded Voldemort’s disembodied voice.

“No!” begged Harry as he was dragged towards the glowing silhouette he knew to be Lord Voldemort.

“Please, Harry, do not be afraid! I only want to show you something.”

Harry could hear the barely concealed glee in Voldemort’s piercing voice, and made out his spidery hand clutching something small and round.

“You’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, haven’t you?”

Harry shook his head in desperation, Wormtail’s claws digging into his flesh as he struggled to break free. He fought with his tongue, but the words tumbled out. “What is that?” he begged pathetically. It was true, he’d dreamt this very dream almost every night, every night he’d strained to see what it was that Voldemort was holding, every night he’d failed and been killed.

“You’re about to see, Potter!”

“No! Please!” He struggled again, wincing as Wormtail drew blood.

“Potter!”

“Please!” begged Harry, writhing as material began to entangle his legs.

“Harry!”

Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared at Professor Ferro, whose purple eyes were deep with concern and worry.

Harry took a deep breath and, without thinking, flung his arms around his Professor’s neck, squeezing tight and praying he would never have to let go.

“Thank you!” he cried with relief. “You saved me!”

“Harry, you were dreaming, there’s no need to worry,” placated Ferro, returning Harry’s embrace somewhat wearily. “You’re safe now, it was just a dream –”

“But it was so real!”

“I know, Harry, I know,” comforted Ferro, pushing Harry away slightly to sit up on his own. “You’re safe, here in your dormitory. You’re with your friends. Not Voldemort, just friends.

Harry heard the small intake of breath at the sound of Voldemort’s name, and searched the room to see four very pale faces gazing at him worriedly.

“Here,” motioned Ferro, handing Harry his glasses. Harry reached out a shaky hand and grasped at the air a few times before he successfully had hold of the frames. He placed them clumsily on his face and let out a shaky breath. “Harry, calm down, you’re safe.”

“I – I’m sorry,” mumbled Harry, heat rising to his face. He’d hugged a teacher! What was wrong with him?!

“Don’t apologise, Harry,” smiled Ferro. “You’re tired, you’re emotions are all over the –”

“Ron!” nudged Neville, poking a sniggering Ron in the ribs.

“Sorry, just the thought of Harry being so emotional makes me all –”

“It’s not funny, Ron!” cried Harry. “I can’t help it! What’s wrong with me, Professor?”

“You’ll be fine in a moment, Harry.”

“But –”

“Potter, stop your babbling and drink this.” Snape loomed out of the darkness, causing Harry to jump violently. He presented Harry with a small vial of clear liquid.

“Wha – what is it?” questioned Harry sceptically.

“It is poison, Mr Potter. I plan to poison you in front of several students and a Professor. Please hurry, as I have many other poisons to distribute tonight.”

“Severus, be patient. It’s alright Harry, it’s going to make you feel much better.”

Harry took the vial slowly and drank the contents; he could have cried in relief as it hit his stomach. He felt heat flow through his body, his head cleared and his eyes started to un-fog. The shivers left his body and he felt his muscles relax. He let out a sigh as a squeezing in his sides subsided and he was left feeling light and airy.

“Better?” smiled Ferro.

“Much better, thank you,” grinned Harry.

“Please, Potter, do not feel the need to hug me too. I’ll be back shortly, Ferro,” announced Snape as he turned and left the dormitory.

Harry glared as he left and caught Ron’s eye – they both grinned at each other and Harry let out a laugh for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“Well mate, if you’re feeling better, I’m getting back to bed!” Ron clapped his hands together and clambered into bed, disappearing beneath the scarlet covers.

Ferro laughed as he watched the rest of them do the same, then turned back to Harry. “Professor Snape should be back any minute, I think he’s gone to get Professor Dumbledore. If he hadn’t come and got me I don’t know what –”

“Snape was here before you?” questioned Harry, pushing himself into a comfier sitting position.

“Oh yes, he came looking for you because you were late for your detention, then found that you were in your bed and he was unable to wake you up. He came and found me when he was sure you’d be safe enough.”

“Wait, what time is it?”

“10 o’clock, Sunday evening, 20th of October,” replied Ferro with a grin.

“H – how?!” questioned Harry, astonished. He’d slept the whole day!

“Well, I wondered whether you could answer that question for me. What’s the last thing you remember doing?”

“Uh,” Harry thought hard – he remembered being _so very_ tired. “I think I fell asleep in the common room early this morning…”

“Yes, and do you remember anything else?”

“No, sorry,” apologised Harry.

“Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll get to the end of this. Ah, Severus, you’re back.”

“Yes, Ferro, I – Albus, what are you doing?”

“Severus, my boy, take a look at this cat!” Harry saw Crookshanks snaking his way around Dumbledore’s skinny ankles. “He looks just like my great uncle Brian! I say!”

Harry tried to hide his grin while Ferro disguised his laugh as a cough. Snape shook his head in disbelief as Dumbledore grinned at them all.

Dumbledore glanced at Harry and let out a cry. “Oh, Harry my boy! You’re back! Where did you disappear to then?” He gave a quick wink and Harry stared at him questioningly; Dumbledore just continued to smile. “Well, I think you two can take care of this. I just came to check you were indeed back, Harry. Goodnight everyone!” Dumbledore turned and left with a swish of his night blue dressing gown.

“But, Albus –” Snape was cut off by a chorus of “goodnights” from around the room and a wave from Dumbledore himself.

“Well, Harry,” smiled Ferro, “if that’s all you can –”

“Explain, Potter,” ordered Snape, cutting across Ferro.

“I’ve tried, Severus,” pleaded Ferro. “He doesn’t remember anything.”

“So, you’re telling me he doesn’t remember strolling into the great hall ten minutes before breakfast was due to end, sitting at the Slytherin table and staring into space for five hours straight –”

“I did what?!”

“Oh, I’m not finished yet, Potter,” grinned Snape, showing all his yellowing teeth. “You then proceeded to run around the castle pretending you were a cat –”

“A white tiger,” corrected Ferro quietly, trying to hide his smile.

“An animal of the feline family,” strained Snape. “ And finally you came up to your dormitory and fell asleep, missing dinner completely. I came to find you when you were almost twenty minutes late for your detention and you were apparently dreaming. You expect me to believe you do not remember any of this?”

“I – I really don’t know what you’re talking about!” cried Harry, horrified. “I pranced around like a cat?!”

“A white tiger,” smiled Ferro. “And much less of the prancing if you please. White tigers leap and bound –”

“And purr, and meow,” added Snape. “Yes, Mr Potter, you did. You really have no memory of this?”

“I – no I don’t…” Harry shook his head in dismay as Ferro chuckled quietly to himself.

“Don’t worry Harry, we’ll get to the end of this. Now, do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

“Uh, yeah,” nodded Harry, growing slightly red. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright then!” Ferro clapped his hands together and walked towards the door. “Goodnight boys!”

Four muffled “goodnight Professor’s” sounded from around the room, making Ferro smile yet again.

“Coming, Severus?”

“One moment,” was Snape’s reply. He turned and stalked towards Harry, locking eyes with him. Harry tensed and waited for them to turn to the icy blue of the whispering man – thankfully, they didn’t. “You’re detentions are over, Mr Potter. I feel you have learnt your lesson. Now get to sleep. _All_ of you.”

Harry watched in stunned silence as Snape followed Ferro out of the room. He’d ended Harry’s detention early! Snape! Ending a detention early! He snuggled down under the covers, a grin spreading across his face. It was only when Snape stuck his head back around the door snarling “ten points from Gryffindor. Each. For being awake after curfew,” that his grin turned into a grimace.

The door snapped shut leaving Ron to explode.

“50 points for being awake after curfew?! That slimy, pathetic little –”

As the two Professors descended the stairs, what the boys didn’t hear was Professor Ferro’s quiet “40 points to Mr Weasley, for an impressive grasp of the English language…”

 

“Oh, Harry! You’re sure you’re alright? I was so worried yesterday!” Hermione pulled out of her embrace to stare at him. “You’re _sure_ you’re alright?”

“Yes, Hermione, I’m fine,” grinned Harry. He’d had an excellent nights sleep and was already feeling like his normal self, besides the fact that he was receiving stares from his fellow students, which was understandable, considering yesterdays events…

“Oh, thank goodness! Oh no, I’d better go or I’ll be late – see you at lunch Harry! And Ron, for god’s sake breathe!”

“Hgmphha?” spluttered Ron as he emerged from his bowl of porridge, which consisted mainly of several large lumps of sugar. “Oh, bye ‘Ermignee!”

Harry laughed at his friend, waved, and began to gather up his things.

“C’mon, Ron, we better go too. Divination’s all the way up in the North Tower – it’ll take ten minutes to get there.”

Ron swallowed and sighed. “I don’t see the point! Look –” He raised his hands so they rested on Harry’s forehead, scrunched up his face as though thinking very hard, and said “ – oh, Harry Potter, you’re going to die a most hideous and painful death, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it!” He lowered his hands and stared at Harry blankly. “There. That’s all she’s going to do. She might even predict my death if you’re lucky.”

“I know,” replied Harry, standing up, “but she has the glasses that make her eyes all big – makes the whole thing much more believable.” They both laughed and set off for their first lesson of the week.

The days went by quickly. Now his detentions were over, Harry was sleeping better than ever, and his grades were slowly starting to climb back up to what they’d been before. No one could get to the bottom of Harry’s lack of memory, though Harry was sure Dumbledore had a good idea about what had happened, he just wasn’t telling.

But Harry had other things, more important things to worry about – quidditch. The first match of the season was soon a week away; it was to be held on the 3rd of November, first thing in the morning, and things were already starting to get tense between the houses. Halloween was also fast approaching, and they were to have the big Halloween feast on Thursday, something Harry was greatly looking forward to. The Halloween feast at Hogwarts was always incredible, and the food was so mouth wateringly good Harry’s stomach began to rumble just thinking about it.

Sunday evening saw the Gryffindor quidditch team crammed into their changing room. Harry was pulling his socks on after 4 long hours of training while Wood talked to the team.

“Now, I know you all want to get up to dinner, and believe me, we’ll be there in a minute –”

“Or five,” mumbled Fred.

“Or ten,” corrected George.

“More likely to be twenty actually, thinking about it.”

“Probably even an hour –”

“Right, point made – I’ll make this quick!” called Wood over a grinning Fred and George. “We’ve got one more practice after this, Wednesday evening, and then it’s the match on Sunday.” The changing room fell quiet as everyone listened intently. “Now, we’ve got the best team, and we know it. Hell, everyone knows it, which is why I want you to be careful. Those slimy snakes will do anything to get their hands on the quidditch cup, and believe me – they will. Keep alert, be ready for attacks, and travel in big groups – don’t let them get you on your own –”

“Or they’ll eat your innards!” cried Fred in a heavy Scottish accent as George howled in pain, causing Harry to jump and pull his tie too tight.

“Ok, I get it – team dismissed,” called Wood a little angrily. “And Angelina, could you help Harry?”

Harry was wrestling with his tie, which was slowly cutting off his air supply as he yanked it tighter and tighter. Fred and George howled with laughter as they watched him topple off behind the bench, clawing at the air.

“Honestly,” sighed Angelina as she pulled Harry back up and yanked him free. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, ok,” coughed Harry, rubbing his neck. “Thanks.” He smiled at her through watery eyes then turned to glare at Fred and George.

“Uh – oh, George,” said Fred, standing up.

“Look out, Fred!” yelled George, backing away as Harry began to approach them, and evil grin dominating his face.

“Quick, George, escape mode!” And in a flash, Fred had jumped on George’s back and they were galloping away into the darkness.

“Cowards!” yelled Harry after them, laughing to himself.

He grabbed his broom and shut the door of the changing room behind him. He began the long walk up the to castle in the growing darkness, feeling a little uneasy and wishing he’d gone up with Fred and George – he didn’t like walking on his own. He began to shiver as it grew colder and quickened his pace. He had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him. He began to panic as he saw mist rolling in from all sides of the grounds and knew what was coming. He broke into a run as the whispering began to fill his ears, only to run straight into the dense black figure he knew to be the whispering man. He dropped his broom and pulled out his wand.

“No!” he yelled. “No, I won’t let you do this to me! Go away!”

“Harry!” the thing pleaded. It sounded so realistic, but it wasn’t real, was it? It was in his imagination, surely! “Harry, please, listen –”

“No! You’re not real! Leave me alone!”

“Harry, you have to listen –”

“No I don’t! You’re –”

“Harry Potter!” the man bellowed, his voice rattling inside Harry’s head causing his teeth to knock together. Harry felt his legs go weak and he fell to his knees. He felt the thing grab his shoulders before he fell forward. Felt its icy touch against his skin.

“Please!” he begged. “Please –”

“Harry, calm down –”

“No, please! You’re going to tell me to run – just like my dream! You –”

“No, child! I’ve come to warn you. Harry, look at me.” Harry gathered up all his courage and locked eyes with the man. “You’ve got to be careful, Harry. Keep your eyes open and pay attention. You’ve got to do this for me Harry.”

“But you’re not real!” reasoned Harry. “You’re in my imagination – I’m going mad!”

“No, you’re not, Harry! Another can see me – I appear to both of you. Find him and you will know you’re not mad. Believe me, Harry.”

“But –”

“Find him, child!”

“Who –” But Harry stopped dead as the man disappeared. The mist vanished, the whispering ceased, and Harry was left alone, kneeling in the grass, gazing into the ever-growing darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!


	14. "How unoriginal, Weasley."

“You alright, Harry?”

“Huh,” Harry shook his head, clearing his mind. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Well, hurry up and eat something, breakfast finishes soon.” Ron returned to his sausage and eggs, leaving Harry to take small bites of his bacon sandwich.

He couldn’t help thinking about his meeting with the whispering man, as he’d come to call him. He’d told him to be careful, to keep his eyes open. But for what?

“Ron, what would you do if someone told you to keep your eyes open?”

“My eyes open? For what?” questioned Ron, mirroring Harry’s thoughts and pushing away his empty plate, pouring himself some orange juice.

“I don’t know,” sighed Harry, picking at the crusts of his sandwich. “Danger?”

“Keep my eyes open for danger?”

Harry nodded patiently.

“Uh, I’d listen, I guess. Why, whose been threatening you?” Ron’s tone became serious.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Just a dream I had,” lied Harry quickly. “Shall we go?”

“Oh, alright,” sighed Ron, and once again they headed up to the North Tower for their first lesson of the week.

An hour later they were lounging by the fire in the common room, making the most of their free period.

“Fancy a game of chess?” said Ron, gazing blankly out through the rain-splattered window.

“Alright, but only if you let me win,” agreed Harry with a grin, sitting up and clearing the table of old bits of parchment.

“Can’t guarantee that,” grinned Ron back. Soon the two of them were coaching their players through one of the most intense games of wizard’s chess Harry had ever played.

Harry’s bishop was just being dragged off by his hair (thanks to Ron’s knight) when Hermione tumbled through the portrait hole, her books spilling everywhere.

“Oh,” she said, picking up her fallen things. “I’ve just come to get my coat, it’s horrible out there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s nice and warm in here,” groaned Ron, stretching and glancing at his watch.

“Oh, go get your coats and I’ll show you a little something I’ve been practicing,” smiled Hermione, mysteriously.

Five minutes later the three of them were battling with the wind – thankfully the rain had stopped – down to care of magical creatures, each one of them snug and warm in their charmed, self-heating coats – a new spell Hermione had been practicing due to the cold weather.

“You know what, I think I’m too hot,” moaned Ron, fanning his face as they walked down to Hagrid’s hut.

“I can easily take the charm off,” snapped Hermione, pulling out her wand.

“No!” said Ron, quickly. “It’s fine, actually. Quite pleasant.”

Harry grinned at Hermione who gave a quick wink, and they continued on their way.

“Harry!” boomed Hagrid, “Ron, Hermione! We were jus waitin’ for yeh. Now, if we’re all here, let’s begin. If yeh’d like ter follow me.” Hagrid waved a gigantic hand and set off towards the forest.

“Oh good,” drawled Malfoy, his pale cheeks rosy red due to the wind. “The class favourites are here.” He, Crabbe and Goyle hung back as the rest of the class followed Hagrid, blocking Harry, Ron and Hermione’s way. “Why so red, Potter? Still embarrassed about what you did on Sunday? I know I would be.” Crabbe and Goyle sniggered as Malfoy grinned triumphantly.

Harry assumed his face was red because he was actually quite warm. The wind had even eased off now, and there was really no need for their charmed coats anymore, but he wasn’t going to tell Hermione that.

“Actually, Malfoy, if I were you, I’d be embarrassed everyday.” He made his way forward and tried to push past Malfoy to follow the rest of the class, but Malfoy held up his arm and stopped Harry.

Ron lunged forward but was stopped by Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione hung back, unsure of what to do.

“You talk the talk now, Potter, but believe me, I could do it again you know.”

“What are you on about, Malfoy?” snarled Harry as Malfoy leaned in close to Harry’s ear.

“You’ll see,” he snarled back, pressing his foot on top of Harry’s and crushing it.

“Harry!” bellowed Hagrid, waving a big arm. “Come an’ see wha’ we’ve go’ ‘ere!”

Harry waved back and shoved his way past Malfoy. “Coming Hagrid! We thought we saw a little blonde rat, but it was just our imagination!” called Harry. He glanced at Malfoy and growled, “oh wait, there it is.”

They spent the rest of the lesson avoiding the Slytherins entirely, and found their hands full caring for several, small, leafy creatures called Leaf-Mockers. They looked exactly like leaves, and in Harry’s opinion, acted exactly like leaves too, meaning his hour felt completely wasted.

“What a boring lesson!” groaned Ron as they sat down for lunch.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” defended Hermione as she pulled a bowl of soup towards her.

“It was pretty dire,” sighed Harry, buttering himself a bread roll. “You’re sure they were actually animals? I’m pretty sure mine was just a leaf.”

“Yes, they were animals, Harry! I’ll have you know mine was quite lively!”

“Hermione!” said Ron, grinning. “I watched you – you even lost yours for a while because it hadn’t moved for so long!”

“Shut up, Ronald. Eat your lunch. And you,” she glared at Harry who was grinning at Ron.

Harry shoved his bread roll into his mouth and stared down at the table, hiding his grin.

The afternoon went quickly for the trio, and after Defence Against the Dark Arts and dinner were finished, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George all gathered around the fire in the common room to relax and warm up.

While Fred and George were lounging upside-down on the sofa, Ron had adopted his usual spot in one of the armchairs, gazing dreamily at Hermione, who was sat on the opposite armchair, cross-legged and reading a book. Harry was gazing into the fire, absentmindedly scratching Crookshanks behind the ear as he looked at the Marauders Map. He was fascinated by a dot that kept appearing as _“?”_ located in the staff room. It was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“Ron?”  
“Yeah mate?”

“Look at this.” He pointed at the dot and passed the map to Ron. “What do you reckon it is?”

“Look at what?” asked Ron, taking the map from Harry and studying it.

“The dot in the staff room. The question mark,” insisted Harry.

“Nothing there mate,” said Ron, passing the map back.

“No, look, it’s in the –” But Ron was right; there was nothing there. “What the –”

“Hey,” said Ron, jabbing one of the twins with his foot. “If you two had the map for all those years, how come you never noticed an extra guy called Peter wandering around our dorm?”

Harry looked up, as did Hermione – this was true, come to think of it.

“Little brother, as much as we so deeply love you from the bottom of our hearts, we do not spend every waking moment staring at your name and worshipping the ground you walk on,” droned Fred.

“No, we save that treatment just for Harry,” added George with a grin in Harry’s direction.

“Very funny,” laughed Harry as Ron scowled. Hermione announced she was going to bed, and called Crookshanks who had fallen asleep on Harry’s lap. He leapt off lightly and followed her up to bed.

An hour later Harry and Ron headed up to bed, leaving a dozing Fred and George asleep on the sofa.

“Night Harry,” mumbled Ron, as he clambered into his bed.

“Night,” replied Harry as he reached for his light. The room was plunged into darkness and Harry nestled his head into his pillow, floating off into a deep, dreamless asleep.

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione received a mysterious note in the mail, which, after reading, she promptly gathered up all her things and left the table, leaving Harry and Ron to wonder where she’d gone. It was only when she walked into charms twenty minutes late that Harry was able to ask where she’d gone. She dismissed it with a wave of her hand and said, “oh, it was nothing. What have I missed?”

Transfiguration came after lunch, and involved a hideous amount of note taking about the properties of beetles and buttons.

At the end of the lesson, Harry hung back as the class filed out.

“You coming, Harry?”

“I’ll be right out,” answered Harry, waving Ron and Hermione away.

“Stop dallying, Mr Potter. Haven’t you got a lesson to get to?” McGonagall was fussing around with several bits of parchment on her desk, glancing up while Harry hovered in the centre of the classroom.

“Um, yes, professor, but I was wondering if I could have a word?”

“About what, Mr Potter?” McGonagall set down her bits of parchment and stared at him expectantly.

“Well, it’s just –” Harry gathered up all his courage “ – just, I’ve been having these dreams lately, well, every night really, and they’re, they’re about, um –”

“Anytime today, Mr Potter.”

“They’re about Voldemort,” blurted Harry, quickly. He saw McGonagall tense and immediately regretted telling her.

“Are they really?” McGonagall recovered quickly. “And what happens in them?” She walked towards him and perched on a desk.

“Um, it’s just Voldemort, and he’s holding something I can’t see, and then he, then he … kills me,” finished Harry, a little lamely. “Oh, and Wormtail’s there too.”

“Wormtail?”

“Sorry, Peter Pettigrew,” corrected Harry.

“I see. And is he, well, does he have a body, or is he, is there –”

“No, well, sometimes,” intervened Harry. “I can’t always see him. It’s more that I hear him. Hear his voice.”

“Very well, Mr Potter,” nodded McGonagall, standing up and ushering him towards the door. “Thank you for telling me, but I don’t think it’s anything we should worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” protested Harry.

“Good. Now off to your next lesson or you’ll be late.”

When at dinner that evening, Ron had asked Harry what he’d talked to McGonagall about. Thinking quickly, Harry lied and said he’d had a question about Sunday’s quidditch match. Ron seemed to believe it, but Hermione had looked at him sceptically for several minutes afterwards. Harry had stared at his treacle tart through the rest of dessert, and had avoided talking to anyone for the rest of the night.

He went up to bed early and was asleep before any of his dorm-mates came up for the night.

He awoke early next morning to the sound of heavy rain battering the windows yet again. He dressed quietly and wandered down to the common room. The sky was dark and stormy, and the fire had already been lit. Harry stifled a laugh as he saw Fred crashed out on the floor, his hair a bright pink colour – a good sign that George had been involved. He glanced at his watch and decided to head down for an early breakfast.

He wandered into the Great Hall, which was littered with five or six other early risers and a few teachers, including Professor Sprout, Professor Sinistra, Snape, and even Dumbledore.

Harry took a seat at the Gryffindor table and poured himself some icy water. After a few sips he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Professor Dumbledore strolling his way. Harry was just about to stand up when Dumbledore came and sat down beside him.

“Ah, it feels good to be sat at the Gryffindor table once again,” sighed Dumbledore, picking up a slice of toast and spooning marmalade onto it. “How quickly one forgets, Harry.”

Harry nodded silently, not too sure about what was going on.

“Nice to see you up so early, Harry; you’re not usually down for another forty minutes!”

“Yeah, I woke up earlier than usual. Sir.” Harry added at the last minute.

“Yes, I find that I wake up earlier and earlier as the years go on. I was up at three this morning. Three o’clock! I had to wander around for five hours waiting for the kitchens to open. Did you know that this castle has fifty two bathrooms, Harry?” asked Dumbledore, winking.

Harry sucked in his drink and began to choke. He was able to disguise his laughs as coughs, and choked out “no Sir, I didn’t.”

“Yes, well, I’ll see you later Harry. Enjoy your early breakfast!” And with that, Dumbledore popped the last bit of toast into his mouth, pushed himself up from the long table and left the Great Hall, leaving Harry to eat his toast in silence.

When all his breakfast was eaten, Harry found it desperately hard to sit still. His legs felt frustratingly twitchy, as though they needed a good, long walk. Deciding he’d meet Ron and Hermione at potions, he set off for a much needed walk around the castle, passing a scowling Fred and a hysterical George.

After several minutes of aimless wandering, Harry found himself staring at their potions classroom door.

“Do you need something, Potter, or are you simply admiring the ancient architecture of the door?”

Harry whirled around to gaze up at their Potions Master.

“No sir, I just got here a bit early –”

“Twenty minutes early,” corrected Snape. He pushed past Harry and unlocked the door. “In,” he ordered, holding the door open.

“Oh, no, I –”

“In, Potter. I will not have you dawdling outside my classroom.”

“Yes sir,” sighed Harry as he traipsed into the room.

He took his usual seat at the back of the chilly classroom and pulled out his potions book and quill. Snape had moved to the front of the classroom and was scrawling over the chalkboard in his spiky hand.

“Get yourself a cauldron, Potter. You may as well get started. Merlin knows you’ll need about six attempts to get it right.”

“Will not,” muttered Harry under his breath.

“Will too,” muttered Snape as Harry clunked around in the storeroom.

“What are we brewing today?” asked Harry as he set up his cauldron and lit a flame underneath. At Snape’s glare he added a reluctant “sir?” on the end.

“‘We’ are not brewing anything, Potter. You and your classmates will be brewing a forgetfulness potion, while I carry on with my own … experiment.”

“Your experiment?”

“Yes. Come take a look at this, Potter,” ordered Snape as he walked over to a simmering cauldron. Harry, who would much rather have stayed at the back, reluctantly walked to the front to gaze into Snape’s cauldron. “I am going to try and combine the draught of living death with this cockroach.” Snape pulled out a jar with a fat, scuttling cockroach clicking around inside it, attempting to make a break for freedom up the slippery glass walls.

“That’s – that’s not your … friend’s cockroach, is it?” questioned Harry, recoiling slightly. “You know, the one’s you’re looking after?”

“Oh yes,” replied Snape, casually. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you can’t use it! You’ll kill it!”

“Yes. I thought you disliked them? What does it matter to you?”

“Well, yes, I do dislike them. A lot,” reasoned Harry. “But it’s still no reason to kill it. It’s not fair,” a slight pause, “sir.”

“I see. Well, if you’re that way inclined, I shall end my experiment there.” The cauldron and the cockroach vanished with a ‘pop’. “Now, get on with your potion, Potter. Even you should be able to manage a forgetfulness potion.”

“Actually, I think I’ve forgotten how to brew one of those,” grinned Harry, smiling at his own pathetic joke. He could have even sworn he saw the corners of Snape’s mouth twitch a minuscule amount too.

Just as Harry was halfway through his potion, the rest of the class started to arrive. They were unsure of whether to come in or not, but as soon as they saw Harry they began to file in quietly. Snape leaned over Harry’s potion and smirked.

“At last, an acceptable potion, Potter. Continue the way you are.”

Snape moved off leaving Harry to pump his fists in glee.

“There you are mate!” came Ron’s voice from the doorway. “He’s in here Hermione.”

Ron strolled over and dumped his stuff next to Harry’s. “We were wondering where you were. Have an early breakfast, did you?”

“Yeah, woke up early,” mumbled Harry, adding four mistletoe berries to his potion.

“Fair enough, what are we brewing today then?” asked Ron, sounding mildly interested.

“Forgetfulness potion,” answered Harry, stirring his potion the required 28 times.

“Oh, not sure I can remember that one,” grinned Ron.

“How unoriginal, Weasley,” sneered Snape, materialising out of nowhere. “Get to work. Now,” he commanded.

“Oh, there you are Harry!” chirped Hermione, placing her cauldron opposite him while Ron went off to fetch his ingredients. “Hey, that’s looking good!” commended Hermione, smiling at his potion.

Harry grinned back and continued to add his ingredients.

“Why was Potter here so early, sir? Does he need as much help as he can get when it comes to potions?” Malfoy’s voice drifted across the classroom and left the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickling.

“Well, Mr Malfoy, you know how Gryffindors struggle with potions.”

The Slytherins sniggered and Harry tried to ignore them. He, Ron and Hermione continued working hard on their potions for the rest of the lesson.

When the first hour was up, Harry stepped back from his near perfect potion and sighed. He’d done it! He’d finally completed a potion successfully in one of Snape’s classes!

“Potter, continue with your potion,” barked Snape from the other side of the classroom.

“I’ve finished, sir,” retaliated Harry.

“We’ll just see about that,” said Snape as he stalked over to Harry.

Harry saw Malfoy and his cronies look up, waiting for Snape to start tormenting Harry.

_Not this time,_ Harry thought smugly.

“Pathetic, Potter. Start again.”

Harry gaped in horror as his potion vanished, leaving just an empty cauldron staring up at him.

“But Professor!” protested Hermione. “Harry’s potion was perfect –”

“20 points from Gryffindor. Do you think, Miss Granger, that I do not know a botched potion when I see one? Shut up you silly little girl and get on with your own potion,” snapped Snape, glaring at the two of them.

Harry, mouth hanging open in disbelief, the Slytherin’s spiteful laughter ringing in his ears, and his empty cauldron staring up at him mockingly, balled his fists together in anger and turned to Snape.

“I can’t believe you –” but his rampage was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Harry couldn’t believe Snape! Not an hour ago he’d been practically pleasant! Friendly, even!

“What is it?” barked Snape, his eyes never leaving Harry’s glare.

The door opened swiftly to reveal a rather stern looking McGonagall.

“Professor – oh, sorry, have I interrupted something?” She glanced at Harry and Snape uncertainly, the two of them practically snarling at each other.

“Yes, Professor, but continue. Please,” Snape spat.

“Very well, could I please borrow Mr Malfoy?”

“Whatever for?” questioned Snape, turning to snarl at McGonagall instead.

“It is a matter to be settled between Mr Malfoy and Professor Dumbledore, that is all I know,” McGonagall replied tartly.

Harry saw Malfoy gulp and grinned with satisfaction, forgetting his hatred for Snape for a fleeting moment.

“Mr Malfoy, pack away your things and follow Professor McGonagall,” ordered Snape, turning his attention back to Harry. “Now, I believe you were saying something, _Mr_ Potter?”

“Yes, _Professor_ Snape,” growled Harry through gritted teeth. He saw Malfoy’s terrified face leaving the room out of the corner of his eye and felt a deep satisfaction.

“Well then,” Snape practically whispered as he leaned into Harry’s desk, causing Harry to lean back for fear of bumping noses with the man. “I suggest you keep it to yourself and start your potion again.”

“You can’t –”

“10 points from Gryffindor.”

“But you –”

“20 points from Gryffindor.”

“That’s not –”

“Mr Potter! 50 points from Gryffindor! If you continue to argue with me I shall continue to take points! Now get on with your potion!”

“Why should –”

“Harry, please!” pleaded Hermione in a whisper, grabbing Harry’s arm as he began to retaliate again. “Just leave it!”

“But Hermione! He –”

“We’ve lost a hundred points mate, just leave it.” Ron looked at Harry with a hint of disgust in his eyes, and Harry felt his face heat up. He’d lost them eighty points? All because he’d got angry… He got up quietly and collected a whole new set of ingredients, returning to their bench to see a whole group of disgusted Gryffindor eyes glaring at him.

After twenty minutes of silence, Harry sighed in relief as a knock at the door sounded again, breaking the tension that had settled over the room.

“Yes!” barked Snape from his desk, glancing up to glare at Harry again.

McGonagall rushed into the room and hurried to Snape’s desk. She murmured something that caused him to snarl and glance in Harry’s direction. Harry quickly looked away and shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“Class dismissed! You will re-start your potions on Friday.” Snape stood and glowered at them all.

“What?!” cried Ron, throwing down his parsley sprigs in dismay. “I’ve worked hours on this!”

“One hour and twenty minutes, Ron,” sighed Hermione dejectedly. “Oh well, I suppose it means more practice.”

“It’ll be my third time trying it,” added Harry, vanishing his potion in disgust – it was not nearly as good as his previous one, he was too angry to concentrate. The sooner he got out of Snape’s class the better.

“Oh well,” replied Ron, shoving everything into his bag. “You, uh, fancy a game of chess, Harry? We’ve still got half an hour until lunch starts.” Ron looked tentatively at Harry, and Harry was relieved to see the disgust had left his eyes.

“Yeah ok,” agreed Harry, brightening up. “But only if you let Hermione help me, she –”

“Potter!” Harry jumped as Snape’s voice sounded from above them. “You will accompany myself and Professor McGonagall to the Headmaster’s office. Now.”

“Yes, Professor,” growled Harry, not looking up at Snape. “See you at lunch,” he added to Ron and Hermione, grimacing as Snape chivvied him out of the classroom. “At least let me grab my bag!” he exclaimed.

“Get out!” Snape growled in his ear, shoving his bag roughly into his outstretched hands.

“Is everything alright, Severus?” asked McGonagall uncertainly as they made their way up to Dumbledore’s office. “Things between you and Mr Potter seem a little more … strained than usual.”

Harry snorted and glared at the back of Snape’s head, waiting to hear his reply.

“No, everything is fine, thank you Professor. Potter just felt the need to act up in my lesson –”

“I did not!” defended Harry, not about to sit back and let Snape lie to his head of house. “You were the one who –”

“100 points from Gryffindor, Potter!” snarled Snape, spinning on the spot to turn and glare at Harry. “I warned you, did I not, that I would continue to take points? Shut your mouth or I shall do it for you!” Harry saw Snape’s hand twitch towards his wand and took a few steps back, reaching for his own.

“Severus! That’s no way to talk to a student! And 100 points to Mr Potter for taking such abuse! Really!” She glowered at the two of them and Harry avoided her gaze, too angry to guarantee he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

After they’d walked a bit further, Harry felt calm enough to talk. “Professor McGonagall? Why does –”

“Quiet, Potter. This does not concern you.”

“Well, it obviously does –”

“You two! Really!” She turned to look at them exasperatedly. “I believe Mr Potter was talking to me, anyway.” She looked at him and shook her head. “I do not know, Mr Potter, Professor Dumbledore merely asked me to come and get yourself and Professor Snape – a job I would have refused if I had known it would have been this difficult!”

Harry continued the rest of their journey in silence, and soon they were ascending the spiral staircase up to Dumbledore’s office. Snape burst through the door without knocking and stalked over to Dumbledore’s desk.

“What is the meaning of this, Albus? You interrupt my lesson, you force me to dismiss the students early by calling me up here to –”

“I believe Mr Malfoy has something he would like to tell you,” interrupted Dumbledore calmly, watching Snape closely.

Snape turned to tower over a pale looking Malfoy. “Yes, Mr Malfoy?”

“Professor, I, I –” Malfoy stumbled over his words.

“Spit it out, boy!”

Harry was reminded vaguely of his uncle Vernon and shuddered at the thought.

“I cursed Potter.”

_He’d done what to who now?!_

“You did what?” Snape’s voice was dangerously low, and Harry momentarily pitied Malfoy.

“It was me, I cursed him,” repeated Malfoy, cowering under Snape’s gaze.

“Uh, I’m not cursed,” intervened Harry, feeling slightly foolish. At least he _hoped_ he wasn’t cursed… He regretted ever speaking a word when Snape turned and towered over him instead.

“You mean to tell me you were not cursed on the Sunday you felt the need to prance around like a cat?!”

“Oh,” Harry was beginning to understand. “Wait, that was you?!” He pounced past Snape and flew at Malfoy, falling backwards to the floor as he ran into Dumbledore’s transparent shield he’d apparently cast without them realising.

“Please, Harry, calm down.”

Harry took a few deep breaths as he sat on the floor, glowering up at Malfoy, who was glaring triumphantly back.

“So, Mr Malfoy,” said Snape silkily, his voice at it’s most dangerous. He turned to Dumbledore, ignoring Harry who was sat at his feet. “His punishment?”

“He will not play in this Sunday’s quidditch match. The Slytherin team will be required to use their reserve seeker. If you could let them –”

“Yes,” barked Snape. “Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll leave it to you to –”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” snarled Snape, grabbing Malfoy’s collar and dragging him to his feet. “We’ll be going now.”

The two of them left the room quickly, Snape slamming the door behind him, leaving Harry, McGonagall and Dumbledore in silence.

“Well, I say,” sighed McGonagall, staring at the door in disbelief. “How rude!”

“Harry!” chuckled Dumbledore, standing over Harry and offering him his hand. “Sorry, my boy – I didn’t mean to knock you over!”

“S’okay, sir,” heaved Harry as he pulled himself up. “Don’t worry.” He dusted himself off and smiled at his Headmaster – Malfoy was banned from quidditch! He could sing!

“Well, I had hoped to get Mr Malfoy to apologise to you –”

“And Severus, for that matter! The nerve of that man! 100 points from my own house just because a student spoke!”

‘Yes, he’s been in a strange mood lately,” sighed Dumbledore, glancing worriedly at the door.

“I’ll say,” muttered Harry grimly.

Dumbledore smiled at him kindly. “I’m sure if you hurry you’ll just catch the end of lunch. Thank you for your time, Harry.” He nodded at Harry and turned to McGonagall, engaging her in quiet conversation. Harry nodded and turned, his face breaking into a gleeful grin, and he spent the rest of the day feeling elated, much to everyone’s confusion.

At the end of Care of Magical Creatures, Harry rushed up to his dormitory, grabbed his quidditch things and was out on the pitch in less than ten minutes; team practice was due to start in twenty. He released the training snitch and spent his time in the air battling with the cold, evening wind. It whipped at his face as he swerved around the goalposts. He dipped and dived and looped and spun and –

“C’mon, Harry! We haven’t got all day! Get down here!”

Harry flew to the ground and dismounted next to his teammates.

“Sorry, got a bit caught up,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re grinning like mad,” stated Katie Bell, grinning back at Harry. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Just a good day is all.” Harry merely grinned even more.

“Good!” cried Wood. “That’s exactly what I want to hear! This is our final practice everyone, so lets make it a great one! We’re going to do brilliantly in Sunday’s match, oh, and guess what I just found out!” Wood looked like he wanted to whoop for joy.

“What, Oliver?” urged Angelina.

“That little rat Draco Malfoy isn’t allowed to play! The Slytherin team have to use their reserve seeker, and he’s no match for Harry! We’ve got this game in the bag!”

The news put the Gryffindor team in a great mood, and their practice went like a dream.

Harry was still grinning when he collapsed onto his bed that night, his cheeks starting to ache from the strain they’d been under that day.


	15. "I hate Halloween."

“Wake up, fool.” A voice sounded in the distance, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“For the fifth time, wake up!”

Harry blinked a few times, frowning at the sound of thunder in the distance.

“Finally!” Harry heard Ron commend.

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” grinned Dean, pulling on his shoes.

“Shut it,” yawned Harry, sitting up.

“C’mon!” whimpered Ron. “Breakfast!”

“Ok, ok,” grumbled Harry, stumbling to the bathroom. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

Harry was washed and dressed in no time and soon found himself on the way down to breakfast, accompanied by his dorm mates.

“Oh, happy Halloween,” said Ron, glancing out of the window.

“Oh yeah,” remembered harry, looking around at the decorated hallways. Strings of feather light cobwebs lined the stone ceilings, while miniature pumpkins floated in the windows, bobbing mysteriously. The suits of armour creaked ominously as they ventured past, emitting ghostly wails and groans at odd intervals.

Harry stumbled and looked down at his feet.

“Shoelace,” he muttered to himself, crouching down to tie it back up. He glanced around him and saw that Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean had formed a sort of protective circle around him. “Expecting an attack, are we?” he asked, standing up and staring at them.

“Can’t be too careful, Harry,” replied Ron seriously.

“Wood told us we needed to look out for you,” piped Neville, glancing around anxiously.

“Now Malfoy’s not allowed to play, the Slytherins are in uproar,” said Dean.

“Guys, I’ll be fine! Really!” laughed Harry, as his friends continued to act like his bodyguards all the way down to breakfast.

 

“Seriously, guys, we can’t fit through the door if you’re going to circle me constantly.”

“Ok, fine. You go in first Harry, but keep your eyes open.”

“What for? Some shifty looking Hufflepuffs?” Harry wandered into their History of Magic lesson and moved straight to the back of the classroom.

“Do you really need all that protection?” asked Hermione, setting her bag down next to Harry. “I could hardly see you at breakfast!”

“Apparently,” he replied, watching his ‘guard’ file into the room. “At least they’ll keep Snape away from me.” Snape had glowered at Harry all the way through breakfast, and Harry had been quite glad to get out of there.

“Looks like you’re safe for now, Harry,” said Ron as he took his seat.

“Oh, thank god!” replied Hermione. “I really though that group of first years would have caused you some trouble, but you stood your ground like the brave men you are. Vey brave work, Ron.”

“Shut it, Hermione. I’m not letting some greasy snakes take their anger out on Harry all because –”

“Shh, Ron!” hissed Hermione as Professor Binns floated through the chalkboard and began his monotone spiel immediately.

Hermione whipped out her notes, and Harry adopted his usual position. He rested his head on his arms and gazed blankly at their desk.

After about an hour of gazing into nothingness, Harry was just about to glance at Hermione’s lengthy notes to see if there was anything worth noting down, when something caught his eye.

Part of the desk seemed to be smoking slightly, and on closer inspection, Harry realised it was actually burning. Alarmed, Harry was just about to nudge Hermione when an orange ember appeared, and began to trace words into the wood. Harry bent closer and read:

_Harry,_

_Sorry to bother you in your lesson (I know you must be just riveted) but will you meet me tomorrow night? Nine thirty, at the edge of the forbidden forest, just past Hagrid’s hut. Wear your cloak._

_Sirius_

_p.s. Happy Halloween!_

Harry stared in amazement as the message glowed slightly.

“Harry, what’s – oh!” Hermione let out an astonished whisper and leaned in to read the message. Just as she reached the last line, the message vanished and left the wood of the desk untarnished but smouldering slightly.

“Are you going to go?” whispered Hermione, looking a little alarmed.

“Of course!” Harry whispered back, thrilled to have heard from his godfather.

“Be careful then,” she pleaded. “Maybe tell Hagrid to look out for you?”

“I’ll be fine, Hermione. C’mon, you’re missing noteworthy information!” He smirked at her and she stuck her tongue out at him, though she did go back to scribbling down Binns’ every word.

After transfiguration and lunch, Harry, Ron and Hermione were seated comfortably in their charms classroom, watching tiny Professor Flitwick point at diagrams on the board.

“Now, can anyone tell me what the charm _Portus_ is used for? Ah yes, Miss Granger?”

“Portus is a charm that can be used by any witch or wizard to charm an object to transport him or her to any pre-determined destination,” recited Hermione.

“Straight from the textbook,” sighed Ron, staring down at his open book.

“Do you expect anything less?” grinned Harry.

“Yes! Five points to Gryffindor! And it’s used to make what we call Portkeys.”

Hermione grinned and Harry gave her an appreciative smile.

“Now, lets see, who can tell me what it feels like to be transported by portkey? Mr Potter.”

“Uhh –” Harry felt himself go red as Hermione and the rest of the class stared at him expectantly. He glanced down at Ron’s book and said the first thing he was able to read. “Like a jerk behind the navel?” _Like a what?_ thought Harry.

“Yes! Very good! Five more points.”

Ron gaped at Harry and Harry smiled back.

“Of course,” continued Flitwick, “there’s the blurred surroundings, the high wind, and the rather unpleasant spinning sensation.” Flitwick pulled a face as though remembering said sensation.

By the end of the lesson, Harry was well informed about portkeys, and was in no hurry to experience one for himself.

“Halloween feast!” whooped Ron as they made their way down to dinner that evening.

“Ron? Excited about food? Surely not!” mocked Harry as Hermione grinned. Ron ignored him and practically skipped the rest of the way.

They eventually took their seats at the table and waited for Professor Dumbledore to start the feast.

“C’mon!” whimpered Ron, rocking back and forth in his seat. Just as Harry’s stomach gave a quick growl, Dumbledore stood and the hall fell silent.

“Good evening everyone, and Happy Halloween! Before we start our delicious feast, it is essential for you to understand that nothing in this castle can harm you. But I warn you to be wary of the creatures that may lurk in the dark. For those, I can give you no protection. You have been warned.” Dumbledore glanced around the hall, clapped his hands, and they were plunged into darkness.

A loud howl erupted from the centre of the room followed by a clap of thunder.

The hall erupted into terrified screams as unearthly moans and wails reverberated round the room. Harry felt Hermione grab his arm and he gave her a reassuring squeeze back.

He supposed this must be what it was like to enter a ghost train or a haunted house – he wouldn’t know, as he’d never even been allowed to even look at one, let alone go in one.

Another loud howl was followed by several bolts of lighting, which struck the tables with the sound of a whip cracking. Harry saw ghostly figures swarming the room as the lightning lit up the hall, each one with a stretched, disfigured face. He ducked as one came towards him, and felt a hand claw at his back.

He winced as Hermione squeezed harder, a loud growl sounding in his ear, and suddenly it was all over. The hall burst into candlelight to reveal lines and lines of mouth-watering food. Harry let out a relieved laugh as he glanced around.

The Slytherins were a bunch of whimpering, cowering, pale pasty faces, while the Hufflepuff table consisted mainly of shocked expressions and stunned silences. The Ravenclaws, it seemed, had recovered from the initial shock, and were already discussing it eagerly, and the Gryffindors, Harry was proud to note, had all seemed to find it very exhilarating, and were grinning a lot (apart from one or two pale faces).

“Apologies!” grinned Dumbledore. “Just a little Halloween trick – now, dig in to your treat! Oh, and thank you to Professor Ferro for providing wonderful sound effects!”

Ferro threw back his head and let out a loud howl, which was followed by relieved laughter and applause throughout the hall.

“Bloody hell,” whimpered Ron, reaching for a stack of ribs and shovelling them onto his plate.

“I hate Halloween,” muttered Hermione as she cut herself a generous slice of chicken pie.

“I’m not keen,” mumbled Harry, who had suddenly thought painfully of his parents.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione looked horrified, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think –”

“Hermione, it’s fine! Eat your pie!” He smiled at her reassuringly and tucked into his pumpkin stew, which was surprisingly, very nice.

Dessert came afterwards, and what a dessert it was. Giant pumpkins filled with hundreds of pumpkin pasties. Sweet pumpkin tarts with white chocolate swirls, dark chocolate gateaux, sweets of every shape and size as far as the eye could see, and bowls made entirely of chocolate filled with rich creamy custard with pumpkin sprinkles.

Harry was pretty sure his eyes must be bulging, but he just couldn’t help it! He grabbed a warm pumpkin pasty and a chocolate bowl of custard and started munching away – he’d go back for more later. Ron was less subtle and grabbed everything he could reach, while Hermione nibbled daintily at her slice of pumpkin tart.

All too soon they were crashed out in the common room, Ron clutching his stomach while Harry dozed in front of the fire, contemplating death by too much food… Was that possible?

“Well, I’m going to bed,” yawned Hermione. “Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halownmmn,” mumbled Harry, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“C’mon, lets go to bed.” Ron groaned as he pushed himself up and held out a hand for Harry. After what felt like an eternity, Harry was in his pyjamas, in his bed, and snuggling warmly off to sleep.

Friday was uneventful. Double potions went painfully slowly, and Harry and Snape just completely ignored each other – much to the Gryffindor’s relief. Harry was even able to finish his potion, though it was nowhere near the standard it had been on Wednesday. Harry and Ron spent their free period actually doing some Transfiguration work, and lunchtime was a quiet affair, due to the fact that everyone was still full up after the feast, well, almost everyone. Ron was able to manage second helpings of stew, much to Harry’s astonishment. Defence Against the Dark Arts was even a little boring, though they did persuade Professor Ferro to howl for them again at the end of the lesson.

“I thought his animagus form was a tiger,” Ron questioned on the way to Divination. “Why is he so good at howling?”

“Dunno,” shrugged Harry, not really caring much.

Divination, strangely enough, was the highlight of Harry’s day.

“Beware, Harry Potter!”

“Not again,” groaned Harry, as Trelawney stumbled over her robes in her eager approach to get to him, her eyes full of tears.

“Beware the long haired man! Beware!”

“Who do you reckon she meant then?” questioned Ron as they made their way down to the common room. “Who do we know with long hair?”

“Hmm,” thought Harry. “Hagrid, Dumbledore, uh, Snape –”

“You don’t reckon she meant Ferro, do you?” asked Ron, looking worried.

“I don’t reckon she meant anyone, Ron. She was making it up.”

“Yeah, but Harry –”

“What are you two bickering about now?” Hermione’s voice sounded from behind.

“Beware the long haired man – Trelawney’s latest prediction,” sighed Harry.

“How unoriginal,” remarked Hermione with a sniff.

“But Hermione!” warned Ron. “She could mean Ferro! He’s got long hair –”

“Yes, as has Dumbledore, Snape –”

“Santa Clause,” chuckled Harry to himself, depositing his bag under the window of the common room. He let his friends bicker as they walked down to dinner, his mind wandering to the thought of Sirius and his meeting with him tonight – he was very excited.

“Ron, for all you know she was referring to Merlin!”

“Don’t be so stupid, Hermione! Merlin wouldn’t want to hurt Harry, he’s too nice!”

“Oh, besides the fact that he’s dead!”

“Guys!” reasoned Harry as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. “No one’s going to hurt me! Dead or alive!”

“Don’t count on it, Potter,” snarled Malfoy as he walked past them to the Slytherin table.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” growled Ron, twisting in his seat to glare at him.

Ignoring Malfoy, Harry continued. “Since when have you ever listened to what Trelawney’s got to say, anyway?”

“I dunno.” Ron shifted on the bench uncomfortably. “Sometimes she just sounds really realistic.”

“And other times she’s talking complete nonsense,” retaliated Hermione, cutting into her Yorkshire pudding.

“I just think –”

“Oh really? You can do that, can you?”

Harry smiled at Hermione’s quick-witted insult and dove into his own dinner.

“Alright,” muttered Ron. “Just don’t blame me when Harry drops down dead.”

Harry spluttered into his goblet. “Still here, you know!”

“For now,” grinned Hermione.

After dinner, Harry and Ron spent their time playing a noisy game of exploding snap, and even convinced Hermione to play with the promise of getting lots of work done tomorrow.

At quarter past nine, Harry headed upstairs to fetch his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map. He snuck out of the dormitory and then out of the common room unnoticed, and started his journey through the castle.

His trip was perfect. Not a soul was around, and there was no sign of Filtch or Mrs Norris anywhere. Harry was down at Hagrid’s hut with five minutes to spare. He scanned the tree line for any signs of movement, jumping suddenly as a fox had sprung from the darkness.

At twenty to ten, Harry was beginning to despair.

“Harry?” a familiar voice called out in the distance.

“Sirius?” Harry called back tentatively.

“Harry! Where are you?” Harry saw a figure emerge out of the trees some two feet away.

“Sirius!” he rejoiced, pulling his cloak off and dropping it to the ground, followed by the map.

“Oh, Harry!” Sirius emerged out of the shadows into the moonlight. His face was set into a huge grin as he bound towards Harry. He pulled him into a hug as he spoke, “you’ve got so tall!”

Harry grinned back at him. “Hardly! How are you? Why are you here?”

“Come over here.” They moved deeper into the forest until they were under the cover and the safety of the trees. “I’m fine, Harry. Brilliant, actually. And I’m here to see you! Is that such a crime?” grinned Sirius.

Harry had to admit, he looked much better than the last time he’d seen him! His hair was clean and almost silky, even, not the matted mess it had been at their previous meeting, and he was dressed in a slightly baggy, patched suit that made him look younger than he actually was.

“Sirius, you look … good! Where’s the suit from?”

“Oh, just something I borrowed,” dismissed Sirius with a cheeky grin. “But how are you, Harry? What’s this dream you’ve had recently, then?”

“How did you hear about that?” questioned Harry, seating himself on a nearby tree stump.

Sirius took a seat on a patch of leaves, his legs lolling out in front of him. “Andrew told me, he said –”

“Andrew?”  
“Oh, of course! Sorry, Professor Ferro to you. He said –”

“You know Professor Ferro?!” burst out Harry, startling a nearby group of bats up into the darkness.

“Oh, yes,” chuckled Sirius. “I’ve known him for several years, actually. It was nice to finally see him again.”

“And he believes you’re innocent?”

“Well, I think Dumbledore may have had a word, but he was perfectly happy to help me get that note to you yesterday.”

Harry stared on in astonishment, his mouth hanging open.

“Hello?” prompted Sirius, waving a slender hand in front of Harry’s eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry cleared his head with a shake. “Where was I… Oh, yeah, no more dreams lately. Only …”

“What, Harry?” asked Sirius, scooting closer.

“I keep having these … hallucinations, Sirius. They won’t stop.”

“And what do you see? When you hallucinate? Still the same thing?”

“Yeah, still the same. It’s a man,” sighed Harry. “A man with really blue eyes who whispers.”

“And what does he whisper?” question Sirius, sounding slightly worried.

“Nothing really, well, he sort of speaks too. He told me to keep my eyes open the last time I saw him. Should I listen, Sirius?”

Sirius stared at Harry for a minute before answering. “I don’t know, Harry. You need to talk to Dumbledore –”

“I’m not going to bother him with some silly little –”

“Harry! You could never bother Dumbledore! Don’t you even think that! Tell him,” said Sirius, taking Harry’s hands in his own. “Promise me you will. There’s not nearly enough I can do to help, but Dumbledore will know exactly what to do.”

“I promise,” sighed Harry. “I’ll tell him on Sunday.” He squeezed Sirius’ hand.

“Good.” Sirius relaxed and smiled again. “Well, I hear you’ve got a quidditch match this Sunday, mind if I come along?”

“Sirius! You can’t –”

“I _promise_ I’ll be good!” he moaned like a child, his bottom lip quivering pathetically.

“But what if someone sees you! You’ll –”

“Oh please, no one will take any notice of a little stray dog sitting up in the top of the stands. Not while you’re playing, anyway,” he winked.

“Oh, I don’t know … You could put me off!” smirked Harry. “Remember what happened last year when you came to watch?”

“Now, that wasn’t all me!” reasoned Sirius. “That was the dementor’s fault too.”

“I suppose,” thought Harry. “Fine. But don’t you dare get caught!”

“You have my word, Mr Potter,” grinned Sirius, raising his right hand in a salute.

“Hmm,” hummed Harry, not convinced.

Sirius grinned and looked out into the darkness. “You’d better get back. Don’t want anyone getting suspicious,” he said after several minutes of pleasant silence. He pushed himself up and held a hand out for Harry.

“I suppose,” sighed Harry, miserably.

“Hey, I’ll see you on Sunday!” grinned Sirius, pulling Harry into a final hug.

“Yes, but _only_ me. No one else!”

Sirius barked a laugh and walked Harry back to the clearing of the trees.

“Goodbye, Harry, and good luck for Sunday. You’ll play brilliantly.”

“Thank you,” smiled Harry, locating his cloak and pulling it around his shoulders. He picked up the map and stuffed it in his back pocket. Just as Sirius turned to leave, Harry remembered something. “Oh, Sirius?”

Sirius turned and raised his eyebrows.

“Do you trust Professor Ferro?”

Sirius paused, as though thinking hard and carefully. “With my life, Harry.”

Harry took in Sirius’ answer and nodded. He watched sadly as Sirius morphed into the giant dog and bound away into the forest.

His journey back up through the castle went uninterrupted, until the final turn before the Fat Lady’s portrait.

Much to Harry’s horror and anger, Snape was rattling a classroom door, apparently trying to lock it. He was muttering to himself and Harry was able to catch the words ‘Fred’, ‘George’, and ‘detention’. He grimaced as he thought of the twins – what had they done now?

Tiptoeing as quietly as possible, Harry snuck slowly past his professor, resisting the urge to give him a good kick on the way past. He held his breath as he was almost in the clear, and had to stop himself from groaning out loud as he heard a floorboard creak underneath him. Snape’s head snapped up and Harry stood still as a statue.

“Merlin help me,” cursed Snape. “Mr Potter, if that is you, I suggest you move along _quickly_ before I rip that infernal cloak from your grubby little hands!”

His legs like jelly, Harry practically sprinted to the Fat Lady, not daring to believe his luck.

As he clambered in through the portrait hole, he spotted Ron and Hermione sitting on the couch, talking animatedly. He snuck past Ginny who was staring in confusion at the portrait hole, which had apparently just opened of it’s own accord.

He deposited the cloak and the map back into his trunk, and headed down to the common room, looking a little too casual.

“Harry?” said Seamus, looking slightly startled. “Where’d you come from?”

“Oh, I was upstairs reading,” lied Harry, too easily.

He crossed over to Ron and Hermione and deposited himself on the floor.

“You’re back!”

“Yep,” grinned Harry. “Have I missed anything good?”

“Fred and George just pulled their latest prank,” said Ron. “Think they got away with it, too.”

“I, uh, wouldn’t count on that,” smirked Harry.

“Oh? Why not?” asked Hermione, sitting forward and picking up a sleepy Crookshanks.

“Lets just say, Snape’s a little peeved…”

“Oh dear,” sighed Ron, sitting back and stretching. “I did warn them. Oh well, I take it you talked to Sirius?”

“Yep,” grinned Harry again. “He’s coming to the quidditch match on Sunday.”

“He’s what?!” cried Hermione, startling Crookshanks.

“He’s not?” asked Ron in awe.

“He is,” answered Harry, a little grimly.

“But what if he’s caught?”

“He won’t get caught, Hermione!”

“If it wasn’t for me and Harry that night down by the lake, he’d have been caught by those dementors!”

“Yeah, but that’s different, that is.”

“How, Ron? How is that different?”

While Ron supposedly argued his point, Harry gazed into the fire, excited, now, for his quidditch match on Sunday. Tomorrow, he could relax, spend some time with his friends, and on Sunday he would be out there, battling the wind and speeding through the air, not a care in the world.


End file.
